


Sick as Frick

by servecobwebheadaches



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, fever era, suffer, the rest of the fic is serious, the title is a bad pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:25:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5998762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servecobwebheadaches/pseuds/servecobwebheadaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By tomorrow I'll be left in the darkness,<br/>Amongst your cold sheets<br/>And your shoes will be gone,<br/>And your body warmth no longer beside me</p><p>But don't bring tomorrow<br/>'Cause I already know<br/>I'll lose you<br/>-Tomorrow // Daughter</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am being evil and I'm sorry. Hate me if you want. Don't read if you don't want a sad story.

Brendon hated to worry Ryan, and he knew Ryan would be worried.  It wasn’t unusual for Brendon to get some type of sickness during the last month of a long tour—it just hadn’t lasted two whole weeks before.  Ryan knew he had a cold, Brendon was keeping his distance in case he was contagious, but Ryan had no idea how bad Brendon was really feeling.  He was pushing himself to finish the tour and not cancel any shows, but that seemed to make it worse.  It was getting harder to get onstage every night, hit all the high notes, and then act like he was doing okay around everyone else.  He wanted to go home, get some normal rest, and he was convinced that would be all he needed to feel better.

“Are you drinking enough water?” Ryan asked him, only vaguely concerned.

“I could drink more, I guess,” Brendon said.  They were about to go onstage, the third to last show of tour.

“Feel better,” Ryan demanded, smiling for a split second before he had to go onstage.

Brendon was feeling way worse than usual.  The bright stage lights were seeming to spot his vision, making him dizzy.  The high notes were a daunting task to him, and his voice cracked in both ‘Camisado,’ and ‘Esteban.’  Nausea hit him hard, head throbbing.

Later, Spencer would tell Brendon he was lucky he made it through the show—he had been swaying on his feet from dizziness in front of Ryan.  He locked eyes with Ryan, looking miserable.

After the show, he sprinted offstage to vomit in the dressing room bathroom.  Zack chased after him, leaving Spencer, Jon, and Ryan having no idea where they went.  Ryan immediately started searching for them, knowing Brendon wasn’t feeling well.  Ryan found them quickly, Brendon hunched over the toilet bowl.  Zack was there, and as Ryan walked in, Zack was saying, “You need to go to a doctor.  Do you want me to go get—” He noticed Ryan in the doorway.  “—Ryan . . .”

“What happened?” Ryan asked, moving closer to Brendon.  Brendon turned around, his face having lost all color, hair stuck to his forehead.

“I’m sick,” Brendon said.

“I know, but, I thought you were feeling better,” Ryan said.

Brendon shook his head, turned around, and promptly threw up again.  Zack left Ryan to be alone with Brendon, attempt to comfort him.  “Brendon, what can I do?  What—what do you need?”

Brendon leaned towards Ryan, and piteously said, “Take me home.”

“Okay, okay.”

<<<<<>>>>>

They did go home, the next day, just as Brendon wanted, needed.  Ryan tried to take care of him for a day, before they went to the doctor, doing anything to make him feel better.  He covered Brendon in blankets, making him lay on the couch all day, drink water, sleep.  Brendon wasn’t getting any better, nothing was helping, though he told Ryan it was.  Ryan went out to buy soup and painkillers, rushing because he didn’t want to leave Brendon alone and miserable for long.

When he walked in the front door with his grocery bags, a wave of heat hit him, the couch was empty, and the blankets were thrown back.  Brendon was nowhere to be found.  Ryan dropped the grocery bags, calling Brendon’s name once.  There was no answer, and Ryan started looking through the house.  There wasn’t any noise, no water running, or Brendon’s coughing as he’d become familiar with hearing almost constantly.  “Hello? Lover?”

Brendon had fallen asleep, curled up against the bathroom wall, after another session of throwing up.

“Brendon,” Ryan said again, gently shaking his shoulder.  Blearily, Brendon opened his eyes, looking at Ryan, and then around the room.  “Hey, you should go to bed,” Ryan told him, voice quiet.

Brendon furrowed his eyebrows, eyes unfocused.  His eyelids were drooping, head lolling forward.  Ryan pressed his hand to Brendon’s forehead to find he was burning up.  Brendon shivered.  “Hey, hey, come on,” Ryan urged.  He knew Brendon’s fever had probably skyrocketed while he was out, and that would be making him tired and disoriented.  Ryan took Brendon’s chin in his fingertips and tilted his head upright.

“Ryan . . .?”

“Yes, B.  Come to bed.”  Ryan took Brendon’s hand and helped him up.  Brendon curled up in a fetal position in their bed, under the covers.  Ryan couldn’t believe Brendon wasn’t sweating, his skin felt fiery to the touch, but he was shivering, teeth chattering as he pulled the sheets up to his chin.  Ryan frowned, feeling all the pity for him, heart breaking at Brendon’s pain.  He bent over to press his lips to Brendon’s cheek, smoothing back his hair.  “Get some sleep.  I love you,” Ryan said.

“B-baby, where are you going?” Brendon asked.

Ryan turned back around.  “I was going to make you soup.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Do you want some, though?  I should’ve asked.”

“Yeah, I just want something warm.  Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Ryan heated up the soup, and by the time he brought it in to Brendon, he was half asleep, in a daze.  Brendon awoke to eat, but only got a few bites down before he became too tired, and laid back down to sleep.  Ryan brought him more blankets, because he said that even the sheets were too cold.

While Brendon was sleeping, Ryan sent a few emails, and reorganized the space on the couch Brendon had been resting earlier in the day.  It was later in the night, nearing eleven, when he heard Brendon calling his name.  “Is everything okay?” Ryan asked from the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark room.

Brendon mumbled something into the pillow.  “B?” Ryan asked, stepping closer to the bed.  Brendon was in a fever-delirious sleep, muttering to himself.  Ryan flipped on a dim lamp, checking on Brendon to see he was sickly pale, bottom lip trembling with a frown.

There were small whimpers escaping his throat, and then a louder yelp of, “No, please . . .”  Ryan wondered how long Brendon had been calling for him, and he just couldn’t hear him, or what Brendon was even dreaming about.  It was obviously a bad dream, distressing Brendon.  Ryan guessed that Brendon had been calling Ryan for help in his dream.

He woke Brendon up, accidentally startling him awake.  Brendon sat bolt upright, nearly knocking into Ryan, who was sitting on the edge of the bed.  “Hey, easy, be careful,” Ryan said, trying to calm down Brendon’s breathing.

Brendon’s wide eyes found Ryan’s, and he let out a relieved sigh.  “Nightmares—” He laid back down and threw an arm over his eyes.  “—fuckin’ stupid,” he brushed off.  His voice was cracking from sleep and sickness, and his skin broke out in goosebumps again.

Ryan tilted his head to the side, looking at Brendon and trying to tell himself he had no reason to be concerned.  “Did you want to talk about it?  You were calling for me,” Ryan informed him.

“I was?  You’ll laugh, but . . . We got fired from the label, Pete personally fired us, because I couldn’t perform onstage anymore, I kept freezing up.  And I guess Pete only told me, because I was freaking out over the whole thing, since I didn’t know how to tell you,” Brendon explained, burying himself in blankets.

“That’s ridiculous.  Pete loves us, and you don’t  _ get  _ stage fright,” Ryan assured.

“I know, it doesn’t matter.”  He sat up again, coughing, and stumbled into the bathroom to throw up.  Ryan waited for a few minutes until Brendon came back.  Brendon stopped in the doorway, leaning against a wall as a coughing fit wracked his whole body.  He groaned in pain as the coughs faded out, grasping at his throat.  His teeth chattered.  “I’m freezing,” he said, and made his way back to bed.  Ryan covered him back up, and he asked, “When are you coming to bed?”

“Soon.  I’ll be right in,” Ryan said.  “You need to sleep this out.  Get better soon, okay?”  Ryan sunk his hands into the mattress on either side of Brendon’s head, stooping down to kiss him; Brendon stopped them before their lips met.

“Don’t kiss me,” Brendon said.

“Why?” Ryan pouted.

“I don’t want you to get sick . . . and I taste like vomit.”

“Fine, then, I see how it is,” Ryan joked, acting offended.  Brendon stuck his tongue out at him, and Ryan shook his head and laughed.  “Goodnight, Brendon,” Ryan chuckled.  He flicked Brendon’s lamp off and went to get ready for bed.  He crawled in next to Brendon, letting Brendon steal all the blankets for once.

“Ryan?  Are you awake?” Brendon whispered after a few moments.

“Yeah.”

Brendon reached out, grabbing Ryan’s waist from behind and pulling him closer to him.  He hugged Ryan to his chest, Ryan’s back to him.  Ryan cupped Brendon’s hands over his ribcage, and Brendon twisted their legs together, really pressing Ryan to him.  “What’s wrong?” Ryan asked him.

“Can I not just be close to you?  And I’m freezing.”  
“You’re hot as hell,” Ryan commented, and it was true; Brendon was overly warm against him.

“Thank you.  You’re fucking beautiful too, you know,” Brendon said without missing a beat.

“You’re fever’s got to be running really high,” Ryan worried.

“I think it’s gone down, though,” Brendon tried.

“Has it?”

“Well, I can focus now.”

“ _ Now  _ you’re wide awake, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but that’s okay.  You can sleep.  I won’t bother you.”

“Thank you,” Ryan said.  Brendon moved his hands to Ryan’s shoulders, rubbing for a short moment.

“I love you,” Brendon said, and placed a small kiss to the back of Ryan’s neck.

“I love you, too.”  Ryan relaxed into the mattress, trying to make Brendon’s heat feel pleasant.  Ryan was exhausted, realizing as he started falling asleep that he hadn’t stopped going all day, between taking care of Brendon and cleaning things up behind him.  He fell asleep with Brendon’s limbs around him, to the sound of Brendon’s slightly labored breathing inches from his ear.  And when he awoke, it was from Brendon making noises of pain beside him.  He was curled in on himself, eyes squeezed shut.

“Babe,” Ryan said, “are you okay?”

“It hurts,” Brendon exhaled.  “I’m s-so cold.”

Ryan sighed with concern.  “I know . . . what can I do for you?”

“Make it stop,” Brendon groaned.

“Oh, you know I would.  What is it?  What hurts?”

“My stomach and my head and  _ everything _ .”

“I’m going to get you some painkillers, okay?”  Ryan got out of bed, made a glass of water, and returned to Brendon, who was curled up in the same position.  “Here, take this,” Ryan said.  Brendon slowly sat up, grimacing with a pain in his whole body.

“Thanks, love,” Brendon said, taking the things from Ryan’s hands.  His voice was quieter and a higher pitch than it normally was, his sickness, exhaustion, and pain seeping into everything that he did.  Ryan made him lay back down, to try and force sleep on himself as an escape from the pain and extra rest for the daytime.  It was three thirty in the morning, and they had to be up and ready in only a few hours to get Brendon to the doctor by seven thirty.  They both wanted more sleep.

“Do you want extra blankets?” Ryan asked, before he was going to lay back down.

“No, thanks, it won’t matter.”

“Okay.”  Ryan made sure Brendon had the sheets and blankets tucked tightly around his shivering body.  When Brendon relaxed, Ryan could fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By tomorrow I'll be left in the darkness,  
> Amongst your cold sheets  
> And your shoes will be gone,  
> And your body warmth no longer beside me
> 
> But don't bring tomorrow  
> 'Cause I already know  
> I'll lose you  
> -Tomorrow // Daughter

“Brendon. Brendon, I’m right here, wake up. It’s okay, you’re alright,” Ryan soothed, trying to wake him from the feverish haze he was in. “Come on, you’ve got to get up. Brendon . . .”

  
“Ryan . . . no, come back . . .” Brendon mumbled.

  
“Hey, you’re dreaming.” He smoothed Brendon’s hair back, and when that didn’t wake him up, he pulled all the covers off him. Still out of it, Brendon reached for them. He woke all the way up, looking irritated and annoyed. He saw Ryan over him and the corners of his lips turned up. “There you are,” Ryan said. “It’s time to get up.”

  
“Oh. Okay.” Brendon stood up, trembling.

“Fuck, everything is achy.” He limped to take a shower, hurrying without Ryan even telling what time it was.

  
Brendon didn’t bother with doing anything with his hair, and pulled on the first clothes he could find. He had dark circles around his eyes, his eyelids seeming shadowed as they drooped halfway over his pupils. The rest of his face was stark white, even his lips a paler shade than usual. Ryan didn’t make Brendon eat anything when he said he wasn’t hungry.

  
Ryan drove Brendon to the doctor, where Brendon said, “You don’t have to come in with me if you don’t want to.” Ryan, of course, wasn’t going to leave Brendon all by himself when he was that sick, and went in with him.

  
Brendon was in a lot of pain by the time the doctors would see him. He couldn’t sit still in his chair, saying that it felt like it was bruising his legs. Ryan discreetly rubbed Brendon’s hip under the fabric of his shirt, trying to ease him, distract him from the pain. Brendon’s breath hitched. “Ryan,” he said, “that hurts.” He put his hand over Ryan’s on his hip, and Ryan stopped his movements.

  
“Oh. Sorry.” He laced his fingers with Brendon’s instead.

  
“It’s okay,” Brendon assured. He gave Ryan a weak smile, resting his head on Ryan’s shoulder next to him.

  
A nurse called him back - “Branden Y-Urie?” - Ryan followed closely behind him. They took his weight and height before being lead into a private room. Brendon hopped up on the paper covered bed, and Ryan sat in the chair across the small room from him. Brendon swung his legs, waiting.

  
“I hope they hurry up,” Brendon said, and he rubbed his eyes. “I want to go back home.”

  
“It won’t be too long,” Ryan said, although he didn’t know that for sure.

  
Fifteen more minutes passed of Brendon trying not to think about the pain in his body, and Ryan talking to him as a distraction. The doctor came in, starting with, “So, what’s going on?”

  
“I just generally feel awful,” Brendon said.

  
“Running a fever?” She asked.

  
“I think so.”

  
She took his temperature. “A hundred two point one . . . that’s pretty high. How long have you been feeling like this?”

  
“About two weeks.”

  
The doctor was writing fast, talking quickly, seeming to be in a rush. “Pain? On a scale of one to ten?”

  
“Uh - a seven?”

  
“Okay . . . Body aches? Nausea? What’s been happening?”

  
“Yeah, body aches, nausea. My throat hurts. I’ve been having a hard time breathing.”

  
“Let’s take your blood pressure . . .” She grabbed the black cuff and cord off the wall, and Brendon rolled up his sleeves to reveal his tattooed arm. The cuff was wrapped around his arm, and as it started pumping tighter, Brendon winced in pain. His skin was already hurting beforehand, but it felt like getting punched over and over as it tightened. His arm was getting crushed, he was sure, and Ryan was worried about it. Ryan met Brendon’s eyes, watching Brendon fight to keep them from squeezing shut in pain. Ryan mouthed the words, “Love you,” to him, a distraction; protection.

  
Brendon’s tense shoulders relaxed at that, and before he knew it, it was over and his arm was released. He cradled his arm, rubbing lightly, looking up to hear that his blood pressure was a little bit low.  
“Let me listen to your breathing,” the doctor said. Brendon turned around, letting her push his shirt up his back. Ryan gawked at the view of Brendon’s bare skin - pale, sure, but there were numerous purple bruises scattering his spine, up to the base of his neck. The doctor stopped her movements. “What are all these bruises from?” She asked.

  
“What bruises?” Brendon instantly said.  
“All of these on your spine? Don’t you feel them?”

  
“No . . .”

  
The doctor pressed her fingertips is into a bruise with some force, and Brendon's back tensed up. Ryan could unmistakably hear a small whimper escape Brendon. “Hurts?” She asked.

  
“Yeah, yeah it does.”

  
“Okay, tell me if this hurts,” she said holding the stethoscope to Brendon’s ribcage. Her voice was less hurried, slowing down to treat Brendon like he was going to break.

  
He took a deep breath in, audibly wheezing, chest rattling in another coughing fit as he let it out.

  
“Okay, that’s good.” She stood up and directly addressed Brendon. “Let’s go out in the hallway and run a test,” she suggested. Brendon looked at Ryan and rolled his eyes.

  
“Be right back,” he said, and followed her out.

  
Ryan wondered what part of the conversation he was missing.  
It was muffled, but Ryan could hear the doctor talking, and then he clearly heard Brendon’s laugh and say, “No, of course not.” There was more silence before Brendon walked in the room, alone. He couldn’t stifle a grin at Ryan, though it looked skeletal with his paled face.

  
“What happened?” Ryan asked.

  
“ _She_ thinks that you, as my boyfriend, are beating me --” he stopped. “I shouldn’t laugh. But the bruises, she thinks that by saying I didn’t know about them was me covering for you.” Ryan looked shocked. “I told her you would never, you’d be far too weak to leave bruises if you tried."

  
“Thanks a lot, B. But really, what are the bruises from?”

  
“I really don’t know. My skin has been sensitive since I got sick, but I don’t know why it’s bruising . . . But you didn’t do it, I’m sure,” Brendon smiled.

  
“Of course not. So, when are we going home? Did she say anything else?” Ryan asked.

  
“Well, about the bruises . . . Don't freak out, okay, baby? She says they're a common symptom of, uh, leukemia.”

  
_Leukemia_.

  
Ryan froze up. “Leukemia? As in—?”

  
“—cancer, yeah. But really don't freak out, I don't have that. I would be a lot sicker than I am now, and it's not like I'm at risk for it or anything. So.”

  
It wasn't something Ryan could brush off so easily. He felt a sinking feeling inside him at the thought, even if Brendon kept assuring him that it really wasn't even a possibility.

  
“Yeah, uh, she says that I’ve probably got the flu, it’s going around, and she arranged for us to pick up some medication in a few hours,” Brendon finally said. He took a deep breath, deliberately exhaling.

  
“You okay?” Ryan asked.

  
“Yeah, just . . .” He closed his eyes. “. . . nauseous.”

  
“Alright, So now we just wait?”

  
“Mm hmm,” Brendon said weakly.

  
A different nurse walked in the room, giving them papers to fill a prescription at a store on the way home. Ryan tucked them under one arm while they walked out of the building, his other hand supportive on the small of Brendon’s back. Brendon was huddling into Ryan’s side, freezing cold.

  
They arrived at the store. “Do you want to wait in the car?” Ryan asked. Brendon shakily nodded. “‘Kay, I’ll be right back.” Ryan went as fast as he could, leaving the store with a couple bottles of antibiotics. Brendon was asleep in the car when Ryan returned to him, blinking at Ryan when he opened the door. Ryan smiled smally before Brendon closed his eyes again.

  
Brendon collapsed on the couch, a shivering mess, the second they walked in the house. Ryan let him lay there, and attempted to feed him soup, but Brendon refused, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold anything down. He dozed on and off, watching movies in between naps. Ryan curled up with him later, and Brendon was grateful for the extra warmth; he placed his head in Ryan’s lap, comforted while Ryan stroked his hair. Brendon had dizzy spells, clinging to Ryan’s waist while he waited for it to pass.

  
The next day was no better, although they were both exceedingly hopeful it would be. Brendon was growing restless, needing something to do. Ryan played video games with him when he wasn’t too dizzy or nauseous. Brendon was starving, but his body rejected any and all food—puking it back up until his throat stung. He was taking his antibiotics on schedule, anything to get better, as soon as possible.

  
Ryan felt awful for him, but was glad it wasn’t contagious so he could continue taking care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By tomorrow I'll be left in the darkness,  
> Amongst your cold sheets  
> And your shoes will be gone,  
> And your body warmth no longer beside me
> 
> But don't bring tomorrow  
> 'Cause I already know  
> I'll lose you  
> -Tomorrow // Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some stuff happens in this chapter but this is still the beginning of the fic really.

“Ryan, I’m  _ fine _ .  We can work if you want to.”

“No, no.  You seriously need to get better.  Don’t strain your voice.”

“Stop worrying,” Brendon said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’ve been sick for four weeks.  A whole month.  The antibiotics did nothing for you—”

“—Yes they did.  I feel a lot better now.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes.  “You’ve just gotten used to it.  You were throwing up, like, an hour ago.  I could hear you.”

Brendon looked defeated.  “Fine.  Then you just work on whatever without me.”  He was bitter, but Ryan didn’t even feel bad.  He was worried about Brendon, why he was still sick, although Ryan knew Brendon was probably pushing himself more than he should be.

Ryan gave Brendon a thoughtful look before heading downstairs.  Brendon turned on the TV as Ryan left, standing in front of it because he was too restless to sit down.  Ryan sat at the piano with a notebook open in his lap, tapping his pen on the white keys while he tried to focus.  He had only played one chord when there was a crashing  _ boom _ from the floor upstairs.  He sat still and looked up, and when he heard a distressed cry of, “Ryan!” he sprinted upstairs.

Brendon was on the ground, limbs bent, blinking up at the ceiling.  “Sweetheart?” Ryan asked.  “What happened?”  
“The room won’t stop spinning,” Brendon mumbled.  Ryan stepped closer.  “I was so dizzy I fell.”

“Can you get up?” Ryan inquired slowly.  He held out his hand to help Brendon up.  Brendon looked at Ryan, reaching his arm up, but it was way off center.  He dropped it back down again.

“I can barely see anything,” he said, voice no more than a wisp of air.  “Can’t focus . . .”

Ryan bent down next to him; a large bruising welt was starting to form at Brendon’s hairline.  “You hit your head,” Ryan observed, lightly touching the wound.  Brendon flinched, curling away from Ryan.  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

“I hit my head on the dresser when I fell,” Brendon said, grasping the handle of one of the drawers.  He began to push himself up, but Ryan stopped him with a hand on the back of his head.

“Relax a bit,” Ryan settled.  And Brendon did, letting his head rest in Ryan's palm.  “Thanks,” Ryan simply said.  He slipped his hand down to under Brendon's shoulders, his other hand under Brendon’s thighs, and heaved him into his arms.  That brought a smile to Brendon’s face, though it was weak.

“What are you doing?  You’re gonna drop me . . .” He tucked his face into Ryan’s chest.

“You’re acting like you’re going to pass out; I don’t want you to collapse again.”

“Where are you taking me?” Brendon asked when Ryan started walking downstairs.

“To the hospital.  This is ridiculous.”

<<<<<>>>>>

“Spence, I don’t know.  We’re not . . . at home,” Ryan said into the phone, pacing outside the hospital room where Brendon was sleeping.  Spencer had called to see if Ryan and Brendon would want to try and productively work on something the next day - but Ryan hadn’t talked to Spencer in a couple weeks, he wouldn’t know that Brendon was still sick.  “Maybe not tomorrow,” Ryan continued.  He was hesitant to tell Spencer that they’d spent hours in the hospital, were spending the night there, the surprising amount of tests run on Brendon.

“Okay,” Spencer said without question.  “Miss you guys.”

“We miss you too.  We’ll get together soon,” Ryan said.  He peeked into the hospital room, checking to make sure Brendon was still asleep.  Ryan considered for a moment, and lied, “I’ve gotta go.  Brendon’s calling me.  See you.”

“Alright.  Talk to you later.”

After the phone clicked off, Ryan slowly walked back in the hospital room, leaving the door cracked behind him.  He deliberately sat on the edge of the extra cot brought in for him, so he would be able to spend the night with Brendon.  It was eerily quiet in the hospital, just past ten at night, and Ryan already knew he was going to be awake all night, with worry in the pit of his stomach.

Brendon was deeply asleep, heavy breaths escaping his lips.  He looked exhausted, even though he was sleeping.  He hadn’t gotten any rest the whole day after they’d been rushing around to different parts of the hospital for hours,  a million blood draws and x-rays and, “pain on a scale of one to ten,” checks, and, “Oh, we’re going to test  _ this _ , just in case.”

Just in case.

Because Brendon’s fevers  _ shouldn’t  _ have been remaining so steadily high, the bruises on his spine  _ shouldn’t _ be spreading, he _ shouldn’t _ be as underweight as he was.  Even when they had their break to eat, Brendon was throwing it back up again, tortured by his hunger and the presence of food.

While Brendon was sleeping, Ryan considered going to find a vending machine, but he was afraid Brendon would wake up while he was gone.

Ryan didn’t fully try to sleep, not able to stop paranoid thoughts, alone in the quiet and dark.  He was tempted to wake Brendon up, to hear his voice, see his smile, kiss his lips, but he wasn’t cruel enough to do that to him.  Ryan was still relieved Brendon slept through the night.

Brendon was confused when he first awoke, not knowing where he was and surprised to not have Ryan laying next to him.  Brendon’s dark hair was sticking up, fists rubbing his eyes, mouth dropped open in a yawn.  His eyelids drooped, shoulders slumped, exhaustion remaining with him.  Ryan smiled at the familiar morning beauty - “Good morning,” he said, voice accidentally quiet from lack of use.  Brendon’s eyes lit up at the sight of Ryan when he saw him, that being the only greeting he had the energy to use.  “Feel any better?” Ryan asked hopefully.  Brendon opened his mouth, but all that came out was a loud cough.  “I take that as a no . . .” Ryan said.

“I’m alright,” Brendon said.

“You’re miserable,” Ryan responded.

“ _ You  _ look sick.”

“I’m not.”

Brendon shivered once and pulled the sheets over his shoulders.  “I’m actually hungry and tired and pissed off,” Brendon said.

“I’m sorry.  Do you want me to go grab breakfast?”

“Will you, lover?  Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The smell of the food ended up making Brendon gag.  He looked at Ryan apologetically and drank his water instead.  “B, we need to find something you can eat.  You can’t just starve.”

“I know.  I’m fucking hungry.”

“Is there anything you want?”

“Something bland, and tasteless, and lots of it,” Brendon said, sounding resentful.

“Well, there’s bread, crackers . . . they have bowls of rice downstairs?”

“I don’t wanna make you walk all the way back down there, but . . .”

“It doesn’t matter.  You’ve got to eat.  What do you want?”

“Rice, please?  Thank you.”

The rice was steaming hot when Ryan brought it back to the hospital room, wrapped in napkins so it didn’t burn his hands.  He stopped still in the doorway, making sure he had the right room—the bed was empty.  Ryan walked in, said Brendon’s name, and looked in the bathroom to find it empty.  He set the rice down, and left the room again, walking towards the nurses’ station to ask about Brendon.  Ryan knew Brendon wouldn’t just wander off, someone had probably taken him somewhere.

The nurse gave him hell about telling him where Brendon was, asking who Ryan was, how he knew Brendon and what his relationship was with him (“best friends”), why he was looking for Brendon—the questions kept coming until Brendon himself walked around the corner, greeted Ryan with a, “Hey, baby.”  Brendon had changed back into skinny jeans and a t-shirt.

“We good?” Brendon asked both Ryan and the nurse.

The nurse nodded.  “Discharged,” she said.

“Thank you,” Brendon said.  “Come on,” he said to Ryan, leading him back to the hospital room.

“What’s happening?” Ryan said, completely confused again.  Brendon was gathering his things: phone, wallet.

“We get to go home, because they can’t do anything for me here without the test results.”

“Nothing?”

“They gave me a higher dose of antibiotics, but that’s it.”

“So we’ll just wait?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Brendon shrugged, pursing his lips.

“I’m sorry I can’t do anything for you, either,” Ryan said.

“It’s not your fault.  You take care of me.”

“I’m trying,” Ryan said, attempting a smile at him.

“Drive me home?” Brendon said.

“Yeah, we should go.  Do you still want your rice?”

Brendon nodded, picked up the small bowl, and made his way back to Ryan, where he leaned into him—relaxing into Ryan’s arm supporting him.  “You look tired today,” Brendon said.

“I am tired today,” Ryan admitted.  “Didn’t sleep last night.”

Brendon blinked up at him.  “We’re sleeping when we get home.  I’m tired, too.”

“Yeah, you need as much sleep as you can get.”

“It’s weird, you know, sleeping without you.  I’ve gotten so used to it.  You’re . . . calming,” Brendon said.

“Yeah?  I don’t know, I get really cold in the night without you.  You’re warm.”

“So  _ that’s  _ why you always wanna sleep so close,” Brendon mused.

“And part of it is that I love you, more than anything,” Ryan said.  This made Brendon giggle a bit, which in turn made Ryan smile and some of his worry dissipate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By tomorrow I'll be left in the darkness,  
> Amongst your cold sheets  
> And your shoes will be gone,  
> And your body warmth no longer beside me
> 
> But don't bring tomorrow  
> 'Cause I already know  
> I'll lose you  
> -Tomorrow // Daughter

Brendon was on a caffeine high after Ryan let him drink a Red Bull at eight thirty.  Brendon truly was ready to sleep under the false energy, and so was Ryan, so they were burning time by getting ready for bed before they got too tired.  Ryan was sitting in bed, leaning his back against the headboard, while he talked to Brendon.  Brendon’s back was to Ryan, standing across the room from him, undressing.  “ . . . Spencer wants us to hang out at his place tomorrow,” Brendon said.  He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the deepened bruises along his spine.  Ryan was concerned, wondering why the bruises wouldn’t fade and heal.

“I don’t think we should go,” Ryan said.

Brendon turned around to look at him at that.  “Why not?” He asked.

“You can’t do any work, B.  You’ll make it worse.”

“Ryan,” Brendon protested, “I’ve been sick  _ forever _ and I’m  _ bored _ .  I don’t think I’m contagious, because you haven’t gotten sick.  And Spencer doesn’t have to know, I can act like I’m fine.”

“He’ll know the second he sees you.  You’re not even pale, you’re green, and you’ve lost so much weight, you’re bony.”

“Well, so what if he knows?” Brendon struggled.

“He’ll be just as worried about you as I am,” Ryan said.

“You already said no to him once; what are you gonna tell him this time?” Brendon said.  Determined he was winning the argument, Brendon resumed with changing out of his clothes.  He pulled his pants off, revealing his pale, slightly thinner legs.

Ryan opened his mouth, but then caught sight of Brendon’s legs - there were new, purple-brown bruises on his knees.  “What have you been doing?” Ryan said.

“What?” Brendon demanded.

“Your legs, all those bruises, what -” Ryan stopped himself when Brendon started looking at the bruises, an equally confused expression on his face.

Brendon shook his head, looking at Ryan with wide eyes.  Looking disappointed with the fact Ryan was right, he dropped his head.  “Oh, lover,” Ryan said, voice softer.

Brendon resigned and crawled in bed next to Ryan.  “I’m sorry,” Brendon said.  “I know you’re just worried.”

“It’s okay.  I - you’ve gotta get better.  I don’t want you pushing yourself more than you should.”

“And I probably am.  I’m just sick of laying around.  I wanna write with you guys.”

“I know you do.  I just—” Ryan looked at Brendon's expectant face, and continued, “Do what you want.  You know how you feel more than I do.”

“No, you're right.  I'm . . . really sick.”  Brendon cast his eyes downward.  “It's just . . . constant pain.  And I want to get better, really, but nothing is helping, and I am worried about myself, you know.  But sitting here isn't doing anything to help me, so, I don't know, I'm impatient.”

“I'm sorry.  I don't want to make it worse than it already is, I guess.  But we can talk to Spencer if you want.”  Ryan thumbed Brendon's cheekbone lightly.

“I don't want to get him worried over nothing, but . . . I  want to go over there.  Or he could come over here.  I just feel like I can do stuff.”

“Maybe not sing . . .?”

“Probably not.  I don't think I could breathe through anything,” Brendon said, but with a sad, close-lipped smile.  “You can sing, though, love.”

Ryan shook his head.  “It's not the same without you.”  Ryan missed the sound of Brendon's singing just at home; it felt too quiet and unhappy without the playful belting-outs of 80s pop.  Brendon spent more time in bed, half asleep, too fatigued to do much else—even so, Ryan made him rest as much as he could. Ryan was hoping that Brendon would wake up healed, his normal self again sometime.  Brendon had grown frustrated with being so tired all the time, miserable.

Brendon looked like he was about to cry.  “If I just  _ act  _ like I'm fine, maybe I will start getting better,” Brendon said.  Ryan grabbed Brendon, enveloping Brendon's small form in his arms and in the blankets.  “I don't want you to spend all your time worrying about me,” Brendon said.

“That's not gonna happen, and you know it.  I love you too much,” Ryan said.

Brendon groaned in protest and held on tighter to Ryan.  “I know I can't do much right now, but you should.  Don't try to spend all day taking care of me,” Brendon said, sounding disappointed.  “Worrying isn't going to help me at all.”

“I know, I can't help it.  But nobody is going to want to write music without you.  We need your input,” Ryan said.

“I'm going to remember you said that and use it against you the next time we’re fighting over music,” Brendon plotted.

Ryan thumbed the sharp vertebrae of Brendon's back.  “I mean it.”

Brendon shifted in Ryan's arms, shoulders tensing.  “Sorry, you're right on a bruise, I think.”  Ryan immediately slid his hands away from Brendon's back.  He slipped his fingers into Brendon's.

“Here, sit up.  I want to see those bruises,” Ryan said.

Brendon turned away from Ryan and pulled his shirt up, a chill going through him as the room’s air came in contact with his skin.  The bruises were varying shades of purple and blue, and strangely shaped, more of them scattered across his back than the last time Ryan checked.  His ribcage was becoming visible through his skin—he’d barely been eating anything.  Ryan skimmed his fingertips over the marks, feeling Brendon's breathing.  “You're too skinny,” Ryan said, splaying his fingers around Brendon's ribs.  Ryan's fair skin looked tan next to Brendon's.  He slipped his hands down Brendon's front, locked his fingers over Brendon stomach, and pulled him close again.  Brendon laid back against Ryan's chest, the top of his hair brushing Ryan's chin.  “You're too light,” Ryan murmured.

Brendon scoffed.  “I'm too light?  I could pick you up and carry you around, sweetheart.”

“ _ Brendon _ , I'm healthy.  You need to eat.  I shouldn't see your ribs like this.”  Ryan tapped over Brendon's ribs, feeling each bone.  “I'm so worried about you.”

“Don't be.  I'll be fine.”  Brendon tipped his head, far back against Ryan's neck to look at him upside down.  He smiled playfully, trying to lighten the mood.  Ryan pressed a slow kiss to Brendon's forehead, and held Brendon as tight as he thought Brendon's fragile body could handle.

<<<<<>>>>>

Ryan and Brendon went to Spencer's house after Brendon managed not to vomit all morning.  Brendon wore a somewhat tight t-shirt and skinny jeans, his red-framed glasses making his face look even thinner than it was.  Ryan thought he looked  _ sick _ , but it was still Brendon, beautiful and bubbly without trying.  Brendon grabbed Ryan's hand while they walked to Spencer’s door, humming happily about how they were out of the house.

Spencer hugged them and looked at Brendon in concern, just like Ryan said he would.  Spencer held onto Brendon's shoulders, looked down at him, and said, “Are you sick again?”

Brendon looked over at Ryan and said, “Well . . .”

“He's been sick for weeks now,” Ryan said flatly.

“Hell,” Spencer said.  “What do you have?”

Brendon shrugged.  “I'm fine.”

Ryan rolled his eyes.  “Are you okay to be, like, out of bed?” Spencer questioned.

“Yeah, it's not that bad,” Brendon brushed off.

“Well, if you need anything . . .” Spencer’s eyes wandered to Ryan.  Ryan nodded in thanks, and held eye contact with Spencer long enough to tell him, “We’ll talk later.”

Brendon pursed his lips and took Ryan's hand once more—except Ryan suspected it was for support from his dizziness; he was squeezing Ryan's knuckles rather tightly.

“Do you guys want some food?  It’s lunchtime,” Spencer offered.

Brendon cleared his throat.  “Can I just have water?  Thank you.”

“You need to eat.  You need the strength,” Ryan said quietly.

“I’m not hungry,” Brendon said, raising an eyebrow up at Ryan.

Ryan looked Brendon up and down for a moment.  “Okay,” he accepted reluctantly.

“We can order pizza . . . Ryan?” Spencer asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Ryan said.

While they waited for the pizza, Brendon remained quiet and Ryan explained Brendon’s illness, their small stay in the hospital.  Spencer was just as worried and confused as Ryan, and looked at Brendon in awe.  “How are you even out of the house?  You should be resting,” Spencer said.

“I’ve been doing that for weeks.  I wanna do  _ something _ besides sleep all day.  At least this distracts me from being miserable,” Brendon said.  Spencer turned his gaze towards Ryan, but didn’t say anything, just squinted slightly at him in an accusing manner.  Brendon pushed himself into Ryan’s side more, looking up at him adoringly.  “Ryan’s been sweet and all protective - he tries to make me feel better,” Brendon added, not wanting to make it seem like Ryan wasn’t constantly taking care of him.

Spencer’s glare softened, and he turned his attention back to Brendon.  “When you find out what’s going on, let me know,” Spencer said.

“Of course,” Ryan said.

Brendon put his head on Ryan’s shoulder, eyes closing for a moment.  “You okay, babe?” Ryan said.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Brendon said, though it was obvious he was lying.  “This is just me without caffeine,” he joked.  Ryan uncomfortably wrapped an arm around Brendon, sat beside him.  Brendon rolled his shoulders and winced when they popped.

The pizza came, and Brendon barely nibbled on his.  Aside from that, Brendon was acting like himself again, more or less pushing the sickness off his mind for a few moments.  Whenever he became dizzy, he simply leaned into Ryan, closing his eyes and leaving the conversation to keep going between Ryan and Spencer.  Ryan knew that Brendon was probably tired and just not showing it anymore.  Ryan watched Brendon slowly grow quieter, Brendon’s weight more relaxed into his side.  Brendon’s focus gradually slipped from Ryan and Spencer to the colored spots clouding his vision.

“What do you want to do for our birthdays this year, Ryan?” Spencer asked, after they’d been discussing the parties of the last tour.  He teased, “Do you have anything planned for us, B?”  Brendon wasn’t paying attention, gazing somewhere across the room.

Ryan cleared his throat and put a hand on Brendon’s bony shoulder.  “Brendon?” Ryan said, voice wavering with concern.

“What?”  Brendon said, and looked up and over at the voice close to his face.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan said, lowly, firmly.

“ ‘M dizzy,” Brendon said.  He put his arm around Ryan's waist, holding on to him.

“Do you want to go home?” Ryan asked.  He knew they needed to leave, Brendon needed to rest, but he didn’t expect him to nod in agreement - Brendon usually tried to tell everyone he was okay.  “Yeah, um,” Ryan said.  He stood up and reached out for Brendon, to take his hand, help him up.  Ryan took a step ahead of Brendon, and was surprised when Brendon put his forehead to the back of Ryan’s shoulder.

Brendon murmured something indistinct, and Ryan let go of his hand to turn around and face him.  “What?” Ryan asked.  Brendon looked somewhere over Ryan’s shoulder, and said the words, “Can you . . .” before trailing off.  His neck bent forward as he swayed and fell.

Ryan and Spencer both jumped to catch him, but Ryan was there first, catching Brendon’s torso against his chest.  “Whoa, whoa, Brendon?” Spencer said, moving to grasp Brendon’s arms in aid.  They found that Brendon had fallen unconscious.  Ryan’s breath hitched while he laid Brendon’s limp body back on the couch, head propped up across Ryan’s legs.

“Can you open your eyes for me, my love?” Ryan crooned, placing a hand over Brendon’s abdomen to feel his breathing.  He looked up at Spencer, a certain fear in his eyes, and touched Brendon’s cheek to try and wake him up.  “Call an ambulance,” Ryan said, a frantic decision in a calm voice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By tomorrow I'll be left in the darkness,  
> Amongst your cold sheets  
> And your shoes will be gone,  
> And your body warmth no longer beside me
> 
> But don't bring tomorrow  
> 'Cause I already know  
> I'll lose you  
> -Tomorrow // Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you been confused on what the fuck is actually happening in this story? Well, be confused no more, just be sad instead. This chapter is long and has the answers (mostly).

After weeks upon weeks of Brendon being mysteriously ill, the final diagnosis was confirmed.  Ryan and Brendon were sitting together in a hospital waiting room, Brendon’s fingers tight between Ryan’s.  Ryan was staying protectively close, just in case something were to happen to Brendon again.  They were both tense, too tense to try and calm each other.  Things had gotten more serious since Brendon fainted - he woke up in the hospital confused and dizzy.  Ryan would never forget the relief he felt when Brendon opened his eyes, groan escaping his lips as he’d gathered the strength to sit up.

Brendon was allowed to change into regular clothes for the appointment, to receive the paperwork for whatever the results were, talk it over.  Naturally both Ryan and Brendon were nervous but anxious to find out why Brendon was so sick, and what it was.

The doctor herself, in her white scrubs and coat, came out to the waiting room to get Brendon.  Ryan stayed with Brendon, his arm around Brendon's shoulders and Brendon's around his waist.  Brendon had been weak, having a hard time walking ever since he fainted.  He tripped often and had to use walls or furniture for support if he didn't have Ryan to help him.  Brendon sat down on the bed-table in the private room, slightly winded and trying to make the room stop spinning.  The doctor sat on the stool, leveled with Brendon.

“So,” she started, “we have the results from the tests.”

Brendon nodded expectantly, fidgeting with the fabric around his knees.

“Most of the runs showed everything negative, but the bone marrow showed up leukemia positive.  More specifically, adult acute myeloid leukemia.”  There was a period of complete silence, in which neither Brendon nor Ryan moved, only stared at the doctor.  “Uh, you're probably wondering what this all means for you . . .” she said, looking for any reaction from Brendon.  Brendon flicked his eyes up at her for a short moment.  She flipped her hair back, looked up at the ceiling, and took a deep breath.  “I'm sorry to tell you this.  We . . . do not have many options.  Um.  The leukemia has spread to your nervous system, because it wasn't caught and treated earlier.”  She stopped to glance behind her at Ryan.  “So this is a lot of information right now, I should probably slow down.”  When she stopped talking it remained silent in the room again.  She looked at the paperwork in her hands.  “The reason you've been bruising so much; fainting, is because your blood cells aren't working or producing how they're supposed to.  Your antibiotics haven't been working, correct?”  Brendon nodded stiffly.  “We need to cancel those, all you're going to get from them are the side effects.”  Brendon stared blankly at her.  She looked slightly intimidated by it.  “I will be honest with you,” she said grimly.  “The leukemia is in a very . . . late stage, you've had this disease for a long time.  The common treatment options—chemo, radiation therapy, surgeries—would not be beneficial to you at this point.  They would make quality of living worse.”  She remained holding eye contact with Brendon, looking genuinely upset.

Brendon's eyebrows furrowed as he comprehended more of what she was saying, and he looked off to the side.  Ryan didn't dare to speak before Brendon did.  “I have leukemia,” he repeated, slowly, shakily.  “It's late stage,” he said after a few seconds.  “No treatment at all?” He asked unsurely.  The doctor nodded her confirmation.  “Am I dying?” He said, voice suddenly quieter.

The doctor gulped.  “With no treatment options, the cancer will only progress.  I'm sorry, Mr. Urie.”

Brendon pursed his lips in an attempt to stay composed.  “How—how long?” He stuttered out.

“Anywhere from one to three months,” she said.

“Are you sure there's nothing we can do?” Ryan cut in, voice dripping with desperation.  “We can go somewhere else for help, pay as much as—”

The doctor held up her hand to stop him.  “Don't waste your money and time.  Doctors everywhere are trying to find a cure; the highest ranked institutes aren't anywhere ahead of us.”

“Okay, okay,” Ryan said.  He really didn't want to hear more about how hopeless things seemed.

“Is there anything else?” Brendon sharply demanded.

“No, no,” she said calmly.  “I'll leave you two alone for a bit.” She fled the room, closing the door as silently as possible behind her.

Ryan and Brendon locked eyes from across the room, and Brendon let his emotionless facade crumble.  He reached his arms out for Ryan and stood up, bottom lip and chin trembling as tears filled his eyes.  Ryan rushed over to him, pulling Brendon in close and holding him tightly.  Brendon seemed lighter than a small child in Ryan's arms, while Brendon leaned all the way into him and buried his face in the crook of Ryan's neck and shoulder.  Ryan choked back tears himself, knowing if he cried it would only make things worse for Brendon.  Brendon sobbed into him, body shaking.  Ryan let him, no matter how violent his crying seemed, shuddering gasps and whimpers.  Ryan bent his arm to put his hand through Brendon's hair.  He made no attempt to hush or calm him.

Crying only made Brendon weaker, and his legs shook before he fully collapsed into Ryan, sobbing even harder.  Ryan eased him into a chair and bent down in front of him.  Brendon had his arms wrapped around himself with cold, tears streaming down his face and sniffling in between sobs.  Ryan wanted to carry him home, bundle him up in blankets and take care of him, make him feel better.  Ryan felt everything around him stop, only focused on Brendon, his now limited time with him.  He couldn't even fathom what was going to happen; it didn't simply seem possible that Brendon was going to  _ die _ .  Brendon was so tangible and lively, such a huge part of Ryan's life; Ryan couldn't picture a moment without him.  It didn't feel like real life for Ryan, there was no way it was actually happening.  Brendon kept on crying, and desperately pulled Ryan back in for an awkward hug, needing the touch, the comfort while he cried.

“Okay, okay,” Ryan whispered.  Eventually, Brendon's crying faded out, leaving a dull look in his eyes.

“What's gonna happen?” Brendon asked, voice cracking.

Ryan sat beside him and took his hand.  “I don't know, my love,” Ryan confessed.  He felt bad about himself, that he couldn't do anything to give Brendon any comfort.

Brendon put his head on Ryan's shoulder and put his other arm over his chest.  “I'm scared,” Brendon whispered.

“I know, baby boy, me too.”

The doctor eventually returned to the room, looking just as grim as beforehand.  She carefully looked upon Ryan's and Brendon's interlocked fingers, and Brendon sniffling on Ryan's shoulder.  “Are we okay to discuss again?” She reluctantly questioned.

“Yeah, please,” Brendon managed.

“With your remaining time,” she began, and Brendon bit his lip, “there are two things you can do.  You can stay here, in the hospital, where we can keep you on the strongest medication to minimize pain—or you can go back home and have whatever comfort you possess there.”

Ryan looked to Brendon, keeping the decision completely up to him.  “I'll stay home,” Brendon said, and glanced at Ryan for his agreement.  Ryan gave a small nod.

“Okay,” the doctor accepted.  “Again, I'm terribly sorr—”

“Don't,” Brendon interrupted with a grimace.

The doctor waited a few seconds of stillness before she dismissed, “Then you guys are free to go, for now.  If anything happens, just come in, call the office.  Whatever you need . . .”

Brendon kept his hold on Ryan's hand and waited for Ryan to help him stand up.  The doctor watched Ryan practically hold Brendon up while they walked out the door.  “Would you like a wheelchair before you leave?” She offered.

Brendon's grip on Ryan's waist went white-knuckled, pressing stiffly into Ryan's skin.  “No, thank you,” Brendon choked.  Ryan couldn't say he blamed him.  “I'm strong enough to walk still,” Brendon grumbled.  Ryan protectively held Brendon tighter as well, but still minded how fragile Brendon was.  The two of them left the hospital in silence, lost in thought about what was ahead of them.  Ryan was worried if Brendon was going to keep getting worse, keep getting sicker, continue to be in so much pain until—Ryan couldn't even think the words to himself again.  Surely, something would happen, Brendon would be able to hang on and be fine again.

Brendon refused Ryan's attempt to open the car door for him, to try to prove to himself that he was still strong enough to do it, didn’t have to rely on Ryan for everything.  Ryan hovered to make sure he was okay before getting in on the driver’s side.  Brendon didn’t say anything, once they were on their way, but just seemed to fold in on himself and look out the window.  Ryan slipped his right hand over Brendon’s knee and rubbed over the denim, soothing and feeling the bone.  Brendon exhaled an audible shaky breath and began crying again, tears spilling down his cheeks.  Ryan was going to struggle with not crying with him, and pulled the car over to stop the movement.  “Hey, hey,” Ryan said.  He wove a hand through Brendon’s hair next to him, looking down at him, his face in his palms as his body produced tiny shakes.  “Do you wanna talk about all of this?” Ryan whispered in Brendon’s ear.

“I’m so afraid,” Brendon sobbed.  “I don’t want any of this, I don’t want . . .”  He looked up at Ryan, trying to stop himself from crying so he could continue speaking.  “I’m so tired, Ryan, I want to sleep, it hurts so bad.  But I’m scared now -” His voice broke, and he sniffled. “-that-that I won’t wake up again.  He started crying full-fledged once more.  “I’m not ready,” he bawled.

Ryan could feel his chest tightening, a lump forming in his throat.  “Lover, Brendon, I . . .”  Ryan couldn’t find the words, didn’t have anything to help him.  “B, I can promise you nothing is going to happen if you fall asleep.  You . . . you’ll be okay,” Ryan said, but it was useless; Ryan couldn’t quite believe what he was saying, let alone the distraught boy next to him.

“Ryan,” Brendon sobbed, “I’m  _ dying _ ,” as if it were to tell Ryan, “Don’t contradict me, just let me be in fear.”

Ryan couldn’t say anything to that and put a slow kiss to Brendon’s temple.  Ryan knew if he opened his mouth to speak, he would just start crying on Brendon’s shoulder, and Brendon didn’t need his boyfriend to be overwhelmed with emotion, too, at the moment.  He needed his support and little comfort, like the kiss to the temple and the arm around him.  Ryan moved the hand in Brendon’s hair down to his shoulder, arms enveloping Brendon’s back while he weakly slumped forward.  He was cold again, teeth chattering between sobs.  Ryan rubbed his arms up and down, chin resting on Brendon’s shoulder.

“C-can we go home now?” Brendon said.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Ryan whispered.

Brendon cried practically the whole way home, not even looking at Ryan.  When they pulled up to their house, Ryan got Brendon to stand up next to the car, and without any discussion, picked Brendon up and carried him inside.  There were tear stains across Ryan’s chest when he put him down in bed.  Brendon’s eyes were glossy when he blinked up at Ryan.  “I’m only gonna get weaker if you keep doing that,” Brendon said.

“I just want you to be comfortable,” Ryan responded, reaching down to thumb the tears off Brendon’s cheeks.  Brendon bit his lips, but the stream of tears on his face kept thickening.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking away from Ryan.

“Don’t apologize,” Ryan said, and sat on the edge of the mattress.  He kissed Brendon’s slightly parted lips, and fluttered light bushes of his lips up the tear stains under his face, and under his eyes.  Brendon’s eyes closed, and he blindly reached for Ryan’s hand; Ryan smoothly slipping his fingers through Brendon’s, holding his hand on his leg.  “Is there anything you need?” Ryan asked.

“No, angel.”

“Okay.”  Ryan rubbed circles into Brendon’s wrists, slow and lacking much pressure.  The joints in Brendon’s fingers went limp around Ryan’s.

“Making me sleepier like this,” Brendon mumbled a whiny hint of complaint in his words.  “If I fall asleep, will you stay with me?”

“Mm hmm.”  Ryan toed off his shoes and laid down next to Brendon, no space between them, sharing one pillow.  Ryan turned on his side, wrapped an arm over Brendon’s chest, and buried his face in Brendon’s shoulder.  Ryan knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, but he could ease Brendon into it.

“Wake me up in an hour,” Brendon said.

“No, no, you need your sleep.  I'll wake you up for dinner.”

“Okay, I'll eat.”

“Good.” Ryan massaged Brendon's ribcage—more just lightly touched—until his breathing was slower, eyes closed and tension gone.  Ryan snuck out of bed, relieved Brendon was asleep so he could think about things outside of comforting him.  He sat on the couch and picked up the phone, turning it over in his hands—wondering if he should call their friends and break the news.  He would wait for Brendon to tell his parents, but he wanted to call Spencer, Jon, maybe even Pete, so he would have someone to talk to about all of it.

He dialed in Spencer's number first, and tried to think of what to say while it was ringing.  The words wouldn't come to him, how to tell their best friend that Brendon was going to die in a relatively short period of time.

“Hello?”

Ryan opened his mouth, just to say, “Hey,” but his voice wouldn't work.  He cleared his throat.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, sorry.  Are you busy right now, or do you have a minute?”

“I'm free.”

“Okay, cool.”

“What's up?” Spencer said, sounding worried already.

“I—uh . . . We just, um . . .”

“Is it Brendon?” Spencer cut in to Ryan's stuttering.

“It's, yeah—its Brendon,” Ryan's voice dropped to little more than a whisper.

“Is he okay?  Did you find out anything?”

“Spence . . .” Ryan's voice cracked.  “Spence, he's dying.” He choked on a sob, eyes welling with tears.  It was too much to say it out loud; it made it all seem too real.

Spencer was quiet for a moment, simply breathing into the phone.  “Don't be dramatic, Ryan,” Spencer said.

“The—the doctor said o-one to three months,” Ryan sobbed.

“ _ What? _ ” Spencer exclaimed.

“He has leukemia,” Ryan sniffled.

“Shit, Ryan, I'm coming over.  Where's Brendon right now? Are you in the hospital?”

Ryan was crying too hard; his words were barely coherent.  “We’re home.  He's sleeping.”

“Okay, okay.  I'll be right over.”

Ryan couldn't stop crying after Spencer hung up.  He tried to be quiet in order to not wake Brendon, but he felt quite hysterical—unable to think about anything besides Brendon.  Brendon, about to die, leave Ryan forever.  Ryan couldn't even fathom how he would have to live without him.  Ryan felt so overwhelmed, thinking about everything he and Brendon were going to go through.  As people found out, the pity would start coming in for them.  It would be all over the press.  Ryan cried for everything he was going to lose, everything he would have to watch Brendon lose.  It still didn't quite feel real, though the more things he realized pushed it more towards reality.

Spencer was calm, collected, when he came over to comfort Ryan.  He didn't even knock, wanting to be as quiet as possible for Brendon's sake.  “Ryan.  Ryan, hey,” he said, standing in front of where Ryan was curled up.  Ryan stood up for Spencer’s waiting hug.  “Ryan, it's gonna be okay.”  Ryan didn't want to hear that, because he didn't think it would be.  How would it be okay if Brendon was always in pain?  How would it be okay if Ryan had to keep going, knowing Brendon was gone and would never return to him?

Ryan shook his head, hiccupping with a sharp intake of breath.  “How can you say that?”

“Brendon—he's strong.  He's not gonna leave you.”

“He can't help it,” Ryan whispered.  “He's in so much pain, Spence, I don't know if . . . if he can make it.”

“Why isn't he in the hospital right now? Can't they do something for him?”

“Not really,” Ryan said, lips quivering.  “It's too late, they don't want to give him treatment.”

“It's not too late. He’ll get through it.”

“But what if he doesn't? What am I gonna do?”

“Ryan, don't think like that.  The doctors screw up all the time. You two can't give up on him like this.”

“He thinks he's gonna die.”

“You can't think that, too, though.  You've gotta be strong for him, Ryan, it'll help him.”

“He's so scared.   _ I'm _ so scared.”

“I know, it's terrifying.  The concept is.  But he's  _ going to be okay _ .”

Ryan jumped at the sound of a small voice.  “Ryan?” Brendon moved out into the living room, into the view of Ryan and Spencer.  Spencer stood up to block Brendon from seeing Ryan cry.  “Spence?” Brendon asked.  “What're you doing here?” Brendon already sounded borderline hysterical; frantic and nervous.

“Hey, Brenny,” Spencer said soothingly.  “I just wanted to come talk to you guys, you know.”  It was a vague explanation, but Ryan was relieved that Spencer didn't reveal what a mess Ryan was.

“Did Ryan call?” Ryan huffed a bit behind Spencer, trying to wipe the tear stains off his face, but they kept falling.

“Yeah, he called me a bit ago.”

Ryan heard a quiet clicking noise, Brendon's teeth chattering.  He wasn't wearing anything over his t-shirt, leaving his arms exposed, and everything made him cold.  Ryan didn't make a comment, but picked up the blanket folded on the couch and approached Brendon.  He stood in front of Brendon and silently wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, like a jacket, overlapping the fabric over Brendon's chest.  Brendon looked up into Ryan's eyes and he frowned.  “Ryan, baby, are you crying?” He whispered, looking up at him.

Ryan bit his lips, attempting to pull himself together.  “Yes, lover, I'm crying.”

Brendon's focus was totally lost in Ryan.  He shook his head, held the blanket around him with one hand, and reached up with the other to touch Ryan's cheek.  “Oh, love, don't cry.  Please,” Brendon breathed.

“I'm sorry.”  Ryan kissed a spot between Brendon's eyebrows, and guided him to sit on the couch.

“Did you start telling a bunch of people?” Brendon asked, looking up at Ryan.

Ryan shook his head.  “No, only Spencer.”

“Brendon,” Spencer stepped in, “I'm so sorry—”

“Don't apologize to me,” Brendon said, quite coldly.

“I feel bad that you’re so sick.  I wish I could do something for you.  Both of you, really.”

Brendon looked down.  “It’s alright, I’ll be okay,” he said.  Ryan’s breath hitched at Brendon saying that to Spencer.  Brendon was only hurting himself by lying about having hope.

Spencer nodded and gave the smallest of smiles.  “There you go,” he said quietly.

“I don’t know, I think this is the worst I could be right now, so the only thing that’s gonna happen is getting better.”  Brendon shrugged.  Ryan sniffled and thought, maybe Brendon was being genuine.  Maybe he could get better.  Ryan sunk down on the couch next to Brendon and pulled Brendon closer to him.  Brendon struggled for a moment, groaning in pain, and draped his legs over Ryan’s lap.  He leaned back against the arm of the couch.

“Brendon, if you’re still tired, I don’t want to bother you . . .” Spencer said.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.”

“Thank you for coming over,” Ryan said, still tearful.  He slowly crawled his hands over Brendon’s knees, careful not to press into the bruises there.  Brendon hummed contently, though he was in pain.

“Are you going to call anyone else?” Spencer asked.

“We should . . . we should call, Jon, Pete, Zack, Brendon’s parents -” Ryan said.  Brendon let out a shaky exhale and shook his head.

“It’s too much,” he said when Ryan gave him a curious look.  “Slow down.”

Ryan nodded.  “Okay, it’s okay.”

“Will you - will you make the calls, though?  You can go ahead if you want to, I just.  I don’t know what to say, it’s hard,” Brendon gulped.

“I can do that if you want me to.  Whenever you’re ready.”

Brendon pursed his lips in thought.  “People are gonna want to fly in,” he said, staring off, “to say their goodbyes, if we tell them.”

“No, B,” Ryan said, taking Brendon’s hand once more.  “People will want to fly in to stay with you until you start recovering.”

Brendon’s shoulders slumped.  “I don’t want anyone staying here.  Except you.”

“That’s fine,” Ryan said.  “They’ll understand.”

“Do you want me to leave?  So you can take care of all that?” Spencer asked, voice steadying through the mess of Ryan’s and Brendon’s.

“Will you stay to call Jon?” Ryan pleaded, wide eyes reddened.

“Yes, yes.”

“Ryan,” Brendon said, voice suddenly desperate.  “ _ Ryan _ .” He squeezed Ryan’s fingers tight enough to flex the muscles in his forearm.

“What is it?” Ryan asked.

Brendon closed his eyes, chest moving with breaths so fast Ryan thought he might be hyperventilating.  He pulled his hands away from Ryan and opened his eyes, standing up with an involuntary whine escaping him.  He covered his mouth and rushed away from Ryan and Spencer.  On the way out of the room, he hit his arm on the corner of a table.  He whimpered, and stopped in his tracks, leaning against the table he hit.  Ryan was by his side a few seconds later, fretting over him.  Brendon’s arm was bleeding, as if it had been skimmed over with a blade instead of casually hitting it on the wood.  “I’m gonna be sick,” he said, pulling his bloody arm away from Ryan.  He fled to the bathroom, grasping walls for support.  Ryan followed him, watched him heave his stomach acid and water into the toilet.  He was shaking, panting, and washed his mouth out.  He was sobbing, no tears falling anymore.  “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he cried.

“Hey, no, why are you apologizing?” Ryan said.

He shook his head.  “I’m sorry, you work so hard to help me, you’re so worried, you look so tired these days, I made you cry.” He seemed to be delirious, and with how sick he was, Ryan couldn’t be surprised.

“Brendon, sweetheart, it’s not your fault,” he said, voice leveled.  He slowly put an arm around Brendon’s shoulders.  “Let’s get you back to bed, okay?  There, it’s alright.”

“You said you would stay with me,” Brendon whimpered, “when I fell asleep.  But you left.  Because you were crying.”

“I’m sorry.  You need to sleep.  It won’t hurt anymore.  We need to take care of your arm, we’ll get a couple band-aids.”

“But I can’t sleep, I can’t.  I have to stay awake . . . while I can.  I have to.”

“Shh, no.  You’re gonna get better, sleep is gonna help you.”

Brendon’s eyes were too dark, vacant, and it scared Ryan more than he was willing to show.

Ryan walked Brendon back to the bedroom, making helpless eye contact with Spencer as they passed through the living room.   “Sit down.  I know you’re tired, but stay awake for a minute for me, my love,” Ryan requested.

Brendon obeyed and held his scratched arm out to Ryan with a pout.  Ryan rummaged some bandages out of the bathroom and carefully covered Brendon’s shallow wound, no longer bewildered as to why he was bleeding so easily.  Leukemia patients had fragile skin.  The thought didn’t seem so distant to Ryan anymore.  Brendon’s pout remained, and he was looking somewhere between Ryan’s neck and chest, dazed again.  At least, Ryan thought, if he were to pass out, he would be comfortable on the bed.  “Ryan?” Brendon asked.  Ryan brightened noticeably at Brendon talking, at the sound of his voice.

“Yeah, B?”

“Can I have some painkillers?”

“Are you sure you want some?  You used to say you didn't want them because they made you bruise . . .”

“I guess that's not true now.  I just need something.”

“Okay, I'll find some for you.”  By the time Ryan had returned to the room, Brendon was curled up under the covers, staring off at nothing.  “Here you go,” Ryan said, placing the water and pills on the nightstand.  Ryan stayed to watch him take them, just in case Brendon were to drop the water and break the glass, or choke on the pills, or whatever else could possibly go wrong.

He was fine, and said to Ryan, “Tell Spencer I said goodnight,” before he laid back and shut his tired eyes.  Ryan stroked Brendon's hair shortly before walking back to Spencer.  Ryan put his head in his hands and sat across from him.

“He's going back to sleep.  He's so sick.”

“He’ll get better, Ryan.  He will.  Do you wanna make the calls?”

Ryan nodded.

Jon kept apologizing, got choked up, and was looking for flights to Vegas before getting off the phone.

Pete was in shock, and offered to break the news to the other guys so Ryan and Brendon didn't have to.

Zack wanted to help Ryan take care of Brendon and had the same hopeful outlook Spencer had.

Spence left Ryan alone after the phone calls ended, and wished him good luck with a sad smile.

Ryan went back upstairs to find Brendon peacefully asleep.  He cherished the moment.  It almost felt normal, to be alone with Brendon and to have him out of pain, but Ryan's throat felt thick with leftover years.  Brendon was all curled up and looked tiny—Ryan couldn't resist.  He crawled in bed and wrapped his arms around him from behind.  He breathed in from Brendon's hair, and Brendon stirred, seeming scared.  He whined and squirmed in Ryan's grip.  “Shh, baby boy, it's just me,” Ryan assured.

Brendon stilled and relaxed.  “Ryan,” he hummed, and placed a hand over Ryan's.  Brendon fell back asleep and Ryan kissed his neck lightly.  He needed Brendon, no matter what the reason was for distress.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By tomorrow I'll be left in the darkness,  
> Amongst your cold sheets  
> And your shoes will be gone,  
> And your body warmth no longer beside me
> 
> But don't bring tomorrow  
> 'Cause I already know  
> I'll lose you  
> -Tomorrow // Daughter

The next morning, Ryan woke up when it was still dark.  Brendon wasn't in bed, and Ryan was immediately worried.  “Brendon?” He asked, barely sitting up.  There was no answer, the bathroom light wasn't on, so Ryan grunted and got out of bed to find him.  He walked downstairs and smelt food, saw the kitchen light on, and faintly heard music playing—Britney Spears.  Brendon was definitely awake.

Ryan entered the kitchen to the sight of Brendon holding a frying pan over the stove top, hips swaying to the music playing.  He wore a pair of Ryan's pants and a red hoodie, and he seemed happy.  Ryan's heart swelled.

“Good morning, my love,” Ryan snuck up.  He tucked an arm around Brendon's waist and kissed his cheek.

“Good morning,” Brendon replied.

“What're you making? It smells good.”  Ryan rested his chin on Brendon's shoulder to look at the food in the pan.

“Well,” Brendon chuckled, “you weren't supposed to wake up yet.  I was gonna make you breakfast in bed, but . . . It's gonna be some French toast and omlettes with bacon.”

“Sounds good,” he muttered, pressing his nose into Brendon's neck.  “So, you're doing okay?”

“Yeah, I'm alright.” He slipped out of Ryan's arms to grab plates out of a top cabinet.  Ryan helped him, afraid they would be too heavy for him.  Brendon thanked him and dished up the food.  He handed Ryan a plate and he walked back to the table.

Brendon smiled and laughed with Ryan, and he even ate a normal-sized portion of breakfast.  Ryan was relieved that Brendon was taking care of himself, seemed to have a surge of strength.  Ryan was hopeful that Brendon was right, the only thing that could happen would be Brendon getting better.  They didn't even talk about Brendon being sick.

It was a good day.

Brendon kept trying to dote upon Ryan, wanting to make him food and watch whatever movies he wanted.  He played with Ryan's hair, making it stick up in ridiculous ways.  He kissed Ryan, more than usual, whenever there was a silence or Ryan was facing him.  Ryan didn't want to think about what it meant, and kissed back, thanking Brendon for everything.

The next day was a dramatic opposite.  Brendon couldn't get out of bed, but couldn't get comfortable, either.  Ryan gave him painkillers on schedule, though the did nothing for the pain—Brendon said they made him tried, but it was okay, because he didn't feel anything while he slept.  Ryan nodded, and Brendon dozed on and off all day.  Ryan woke him so he could eat some soup.  “Ryan?  What is it?” Brendon asked sleepily, eyes not opening all the way.

“Hey, I made you some soup.  Are you hungry?”

“I'm tired,” Brendon said.

“I know, I know.  But will you eat something for me?”

“I guess,” Brendon groaned.  He sat up on his elbows, looking at Ryan to see he was already holding a bowl of soup, looking at Brendon hopefully.  Brendon struggled to sit up against the headboard, and he closed his eyes for a few breaths.  He took the bowl Ryan passed to him with shaking hands, and his arms started shaking from the effort of holding the bowl.  With the fear that Brendon was going to spill hot soup all over himself, Ryan took the bowl back so he could relax.  Ryan set the bowl down on the nightstand and climbed in bed.  He sat behind Brendon, leaning against the headboard so Brendon could rest against his chest, sat between Ryan's legs.

Ryan picked up the bowl of soul and held it in front of Brendon, his arms wrapped around his waist.  Looking over Brendon's shoulder, Ryan brought a spoonful of broth to Brendon's lips and said, “Open up.”

“Really, Ryan?  And I thought you just wanted to cuddle,” Brendon protested, but let Ryan hand-feed him anyway.  Ryan could tell Brendon relaxed, as he barely had to move, barely had to stay awake.  Brendon finished it, and simply wanted to drift back off afterwards.

“Are you comfortable?” Ryan asked, looking at Brendon laid back on his chest.  Brendon made a vague noise that told Ryan he was.  Brendon folded his arms to twine the fingers of both his hands with Ryan's.  Ryan couldn't imagine how Brendon was comfortable—Ryan's chest was bony, nothing like a pillow—but he wasn't going to question it, wasn't going to move.  Brendon slept soundly, no nightmares and hardly any movement.  It wasn't until Ryan has finally dozed off that Brendon half woke up, let go of Ryan's hands, and crawled to his side of the bed so he wasn't lying between Ryan's legs anymore.  Ryan awoke at the lack of warmth, and touched his chest to feel that no, Brendon really wasn't there.  He turned on his side and reached out for Brendon across the bed, draping an arm over Brendon's waist.  Ryan fell back asleep, as at ease as he could be.

Brendon didn't mean to wake Ryan up, but Ryan awoke again to the noise Brendon made while he cried.  “Brendon, Brendon, babe,” Ryan said.  Brendon froze, gasps coming to a halt.  “Will you tell me what's wrong?”

“My-my ribs, they h-hurt,” Brendon wheezed.

“Your ribs. Okay.  Um.  Is there anything you want?”

Brendon let out a sob and shook his head.

Ryan rapidly tried to think of what was causing Brendon so much pain, what he could do to get him out of it.  The bruises could be spreading, Brendon could have slept with his weight distributed wrong, he could have  _ fractured  _ ribs; Ryan didn't know anymore.  He got out of bed and flipped on a light, making Brendon squeeze his eyes shut, curl in on himself a bit.  Ryan apologized and brushed his fingertips under Brendon's chin, so Brendon would open his eyes and look at him.  He tried to blink the brightness out of his eyes, wincing in the light.  “Are you bruising, or do you know what happened?”

“No, I don't know.”

“Let's look at it, okay?” Ryan did his best to help Brendon sit up, push his shirt up to his shoulders. Ryan still couldn't help but wince at how starved Brendon looked, with his ribs sticking out, the skin clinging tight to his bones.  Sure enough, there were new purple and brown splatters across Brendon's ribcage, and Brendon's breathing seemed constricted.  Ryan looked at them for a moment, chewing his bottom lip, then pulled Brendon's shirt back down.  “Yeah, lover, you've got some bruises.  I know it hurts.  Let's get you comfortable, hmm?”  Brendon was still crying, and Ryan wove his arms around him, pressing a short kiss to his lips.  “You're gonna be okay.”  Brendon nodded, and tried to clear his throat.  “Here,” Ryan said, and gathered up all the pillows on the bed.  He fluffed them, put them behind Brendon, and eased Brendon down on them.  “Is that any better?” He put another under Brendon's feet, and stepped back to find any flaws.  Brendon had stopped crying, mostly just trying to breathe.

“Yeah, wow, thank you,” Brendon said.

“You're welcome,” Ryan said with a smile, relieved he could help Brendon.  “Can we go back to sleep?”

“Sure, sorry I woke you up,” Brendon said.

“It's fine.” Ryan found he had to force himself to fall back asleep, although he was only half-asleep; dreaming.  He jolted awake when he dreamt of falling off a high stage.  He sat up, opening his eyes, sighing as he felt more grounded.

“Baby?” Brendon's voice came from the other side of the bed.

“Brendon, hey.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just dreaming.  Wait—what are you doing up?”

“I don't know, my sleep schedule’s fucked.”

“Yeah.” Ryan laid back down with a yawn.  “You feeling any better?”

“I'm pretty comfortable,” Brendon said.  They both fell quiet, and Ryan thought Brendon may have dozed off.  “What were you dreaming about?” Brendon asked.

“It was just, like, a weird half-dream, you know?  I was onstage, and just fell off into the crowd, I don't know,” Ryan said.

“Huh.” Brendon huffed.  “How many shows have we cancelled?” He asked, sounding concerned.

“Uh, well, only the three at the end of tour.  We haven't had anything booked, we don't have anything until . . . September?  That's a couple months away.”

“Oh.”  There was a quiet drop in his voice, disappointment.  He cleared his throat.   “I plan on playing that,” he said, finalized.

Ryan was taken aback, his first instinct to tell Brendon that it wasn’t a good idea for him to leave the bed, let alone perform in front of thousands of screaming people.  He stopped himself before saying anything, shutting down as he realized that Brendon might not even be alive that long.  He may never play another show.

Ryan hadn’t even thought of what Brendon’s sickness would mean for the band.  He didn’t even remember when the last time was that he heard Brendon sing.  “We’ll need to prepare for that, B,” Ryan said.

“I know,” Brendon said, triumphant that Ryan didn’t outwardly protest.  “We should start working.”

“We can set something up.”

“Thank you.” And after that, Brendon didn’t say another word.  Ryan heard him cough a little bit, and Ryan’s eyes closed.  Sleep found him faster that time around.  The room was bright with the late morning sun when Ryan woke up.  Brendon’s back was to Ryan, and he remained asleep in his nest of pillows.  Ryan wanted to wrap himself around Brendon, snuggle up with him, but couldn’t risk causing Brendon more pain.  He missed Brendon initiating it, how Brendon used to grab him and swing him around, dance with him like it was nothing.  Ryan could see the line of Brendon’s ribs through the back of his shirt.

Ryan got out of bed, got dressed, and thought up a plan of taking Brendon out if he felt up to it.  He went downstairs and started some coffee.  He went back upstairs to get his phone, and found that it was ringing loudly beside the bed.  Brendon slept through it, but Ryan answered it immediately to silence it.  Jon was on the other end, and Ryan rushed back downstairs to talk to him.  He just wanted to tell Ryan he had a plane ticket, and would be there on Friday.  It was a Tuesday.

He got off the phone and headed back upstairs to wake Brendon; offer him breakfast.  He slowly approached the bed.  “Brendon,” he said.  “Brendon.”  Brendon didn’t stir, and Ryan wandered to the head of the bed.  He nudged Brendon’s shoulder, but instantly stepped away at the sight of Brendon’s face.

He had his lips parted, a dried dribble of blood and possibly vomit on his chin.  “Brendon, Brendon, wake up,” Ryan said, more frantically.  He grasped Brendon’s jaw and pushed his hair back.

Brendon wouldn’t wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just gets worse.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By tomorrow I'll be left in the darkness,  
> Amongst your cold sheets  
> And your shoes will be gone,  
> And your body warmth no longer beside me
> 
> But don't bring tomorrow  
> 'Cause I already know  
> I'll lose you  
> -Tomorrow // Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic still has a lot left.

Ryan couldn’t take it, didn’t know what to do about Brendon—why he’d been vomiting blood, Ryan didn’t know.  After his heart slowed down when he felt Brendon breathing, Ryan carefully pulled Brendon into his arms.  Brendon’s eyelids fluttered, and he gagged with his head lolling back on the way down the stairs.  Ryan tipped Brendon’s head up and sat him on a stair.  Brendon puked down his front, flecked with blood, still not fully conscious.  Ryan bit the inside of his cheek, and caught Brendon from falling back against the stairs behind him.  He removed Brendon’s shirt, and ran back upstairs to throw it in the bathroom sink.  It was more awkward picking Brendon up off the stairs.

Ryan drove him to the emergency room, where they hooked him up to an IV until he regained consciousness.  They cleaned him up, put him in a hospital gown, and had Ryan explain that Brendon was basically dying of leukemia.  They called in the same doctor who had given him the diagnosis, and she was willing to speak with Ryan.

“He’s stable right now, he’s okay.  I’ve had them put him on some pain medication before he wakes up.” 

“He's going to wake up?” Ryan asked weakly. “He's not in a coma or anything?”

She pressed her lips together.  “Yes, he’ll wake up.  No, he's not in a coma.  He was in a significant amount of pain, and it was more or less too much, that he . . . lost consciousness.”

“He is bruising more, bleeding really easily.  What . . . What about the blood?  He was puking blood.”

“It's probably just from his throat,” she said, shaking her head.  “What has he been eating?”

Ryan gave her a breakdown of the past couple days, and she didn't seem surprised that Brendon's body was rejecting the food.  Ryan had some peace of mind, knowing Brendon was okay, when he was left alone in the hospital room with him.  That didn't stop Ryan from beating himself up over all of it.

He looked at Brendon in bed, sitting next to him, and buried his face in his hands, lost in thought.  Brendon had been in a  _ significant amount of pain _ , and Ryan hadn't known; he'd even passed out from it.  How could he have been so  _ stupid _ to not pay attention?  He should have known to check on Brendon, as soon as he woke up.  He should have woken up earlier; he knew Brendon was in pain.  He'd just let Brendon be so sick, helpless, and he could've done something for him, provided some form of comfort.

“Ryan?” Brendon said, and Ryan's head snapped up at his voice.

Ryan couldn't help but let a smile take hold of him, with the relief of Brendon waking up.  “Hey, sweetheart.”  Brendon was still waking up, blearily glancing down at the IV in his arm.  He blinked down at himself and up at the light of the hospital room.

“Wh-what happened?” Brendon asked.

“You fainted again, and I got scared, so I brought you in.  You were throwing up a bunch,” Ryan explained.

Brendon crinkled his nose.  “How long was I out?”

“You passed out sometime before the morning, and it's . . . one.  So only a few hours.”  Ryan moved forward to put a hand over Brendon's.  “How're you feeling now?”

“I’m sleepy,” Brendon whined, “and kind of dizzy.”  He reached out for Ryan, turning on his side to face him.  “I want you.”

“I'm right here,” Ryan soothed, feeling useless.

Brendon hummed, and opened his eyes, face close to Ryan's.  “Can I have a kiss?”

Ryan laughed softly and let go of one of Brendon's hands to cup his face.  “Of course,” he complied, and leaned in to press their lips together.  Brendon nuzzled into Ryan's touch.  “Are you in pain?” Ryan asked, pulling away from him.

“No, I'm not,” Brendon said, lips curving upwards slightly.  “And I'm warm.  It's nice.  I'm tired, though.”

“That's okay, you can go back to sleep now if you want to.

“I want to lay with you,” Brendon complained.

“Oh, Brendon, I would, but I don't want to risk it with your IV.”

“Ryan,” he whined again.  Ryan just held both his hands.  Brendon struggled to keep his eyes open.

“It's alright, you can fall asleep.”

“I don't want to.”

“You'll feel better,” Ryan said, and kissed Brendon's lips again.  Brendon relaxed in the bed, eyes slipped closed.  “I'll be right here.”

“Thanks, baby, you're amazing,” Brendon said, words weakened.

Ryan watched Brendon fall asleep, felt his fingers go limp and fall out of his.  Ryan felt a tug of tiredness under his eyes—it was as if there was some connection between them, because if Brendon was sleeping, Ryan almost always felt like he could drift off too.  It was only natural for them to fall asleep together.  But it was the middle of the day, and he wanted to be able to deal with the nurses and doctors as they came, and he  _ needed _ to be there for Brendon whenever he was awake.

Brendon wasn’t awake much over the next few days, though.  They made the decision to keep Brendon in the hospital, because the pain medication was working.  Ryan never left his side.  He would much rather spend 24/7 in the hospital than have to watch Brendon suffer.  Brendon wasn't exactly pleased with the arrangements, but he didn't quite combat it, either.  They had to sleep in separate beds, Ryan on a cot a few feet away from Brendon.  It was exhausting for Ryan.  Every few hours, throughout both the day and night, someone would come in and make a bunch of noise; changing Brendon's IV out.  He rarely got more than four hours of sleep a night.  On top of that, Brendon would wake up at weird times, from 3a.m. to seven, eleven in the morning until eight at night.

They eventually called Brendon's parents, who arrived the next day, and Jon showed up.  Brendon stayed awake longer whole they were there.

Brendon's mother, Grace, was a mess when her and her husband met Ryan outside the hospital.  They hadn't seen Brendon yet.  It was maybe only the fourth time Ryan had ever seen them in person, since they'd been on the road so much.  “How is he right now?” Grace asked, tearfully.

“Uh, he's okay right now.  They've got him on strong pain meds, so he's just really tired all the time.”

“Is there anything we should know before we see him?” Boyd, Brendon's father, asked.

“Just—just don't cry when you see him.”

“Oh—okay.”  Grace dabbed at her eyes and pulled it together.

Ryan led them to Brendon's hospital room, slowly opening the door in case Brendon was asleep.  He was awake, and put on a characteristically bright smile for them.  Grace looked at him with wide eyes from the doorway.  “Oh, my baby,” she whispered, and rushed over to him.

“Hey, Mom,” Brendon said, giving in to Grace’s waiting hug.

Although it was hard, Ryan knew it was his place to back off a little bit, and leave Brendon's parents alone with him.  Ryan backed out the door, and started closing it.  “No, Ryan, you can stay,” Brendon said, making grabby hands at Ryan from the bed.  Ryan chuckled and complied, standing next to Brendon and taking his waiting hand.

“Oh, dear, you’re so thin,” Grace fretted, cupping Brendon’s cheeks.

Brendon tried to make light of it.  “Maybe I can’t borrow your jeans anymore,” he brushed off, “but Ryan’s still skinnier.”

She gazed over at Ryan, then tsked back down at her son  “How’re you feeling, Brendon?” Boyd asked.

“That’s what’s really important,” Grace added.

“I’m doing okay.  I’m a little bored, but I’m fine.”

“That’s good, though,” Grace said, patting Brendon’s cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, it could be way worse,” Brendon said, cheerfully.

Grace had intentions of staying in the hospital room with Brendon, and it made Ryan’s stomach drop with worry, because there was no way he could leave Brendon every night, only have the allotted visiting hours to see him.  Boyd, luckily, eased Grace out of the hospital room when the night hours came.  Brendon sighed when they left, like he was letting go of a great tension on his shoulders.  He was half-asleep already; totally drained.

“You doing okay, Ryan?” Brendon asked, in a last attempt to keep the joyful act he put on for his parents.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Isn’t Jon coming tomorrow?”

“Uh huh.  Zack’s gonna come visit, too.”

“We should call Spencer to come, you know.”

“I’ll do that,” Ryan said, moving over to Brendon’s bedside.  “I’ll go get us some dinner, I’ll be right back.”  He smiled, looking into Brendon’s dark eyes, and stooped, nipping at Brendon’s lips playfully.

“I love you,” Brendon said, “and I miss you.”

“I love you, too.  And why do you miss me, baby boy?  I’m always right here.”

“I know, but still.  I can’t do anything with you anymore, and maybe I just miss that, miss being busy.  And it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it.  I never want to do anything, not really, just basically moving kinda hurts, and I can’t even really get out of bed without your help, I really need you now for it, and I just -”  He cut himself off, with a hand over his mouth, and tears welled up in his eyes.  Ryan’s plans to go eat crashed down in his mind, his priority to take care of Brendon, make him feel better.  “—I just don’t want to spend the rest of my life like this; I want to make you happy again.  I miss that, I miss _ us  _ being happy.”  Brendon’s voice was a cracking mess, on the verge of tears.  “I shouldn’t cry, I should save myself the energy,” he said with a sniffle.

“You’re okay, you’re gonna get better,” Ryan said, though it was choked.  “And you do make me happy; I love you, just being with you makes me happier than if I was alone.”

“I just want everything to go back to normal,” Brendon said.  “I miss the band and music and touring, I miss going out to parties, I miss being at home . . .”  He trailed off.  “I want to keep living.”  He didn’t reach out to touch Ryan, not like he wanted or needed comfort, but he curled in on himself, fidgeting with his fingers.  “Sorry to get emotional so fast like this.”

“It’s okay, it’s good for you to talk about how you’re feeling.  I want to know.”

Brendon nodded.  “Thank you.  I also want to tell you I feel bad for you.  You haven’t even really left the hospital since I’ve been here, and you haven’t done anything without me since I got sick.  You’ve got to be bored, and tired, and you probably just want to go home, and get a good night’s rest, no interruptions.  I’m surprised you don’t just leave me here, so you’re not so stressed -”

“I’m not going to  _ leave _ you anywhere,” Ryan said, firmly.  “I get nervous every time I leave this room; I hate it.  I’m used to being with you every moment of the day, between practices and recording and tour, and now this.  We can get through it, Brendon.”

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” Brendon said, cupping Ryan’s cheek, pulling the tubing of his IV taut in the process.  “We both know what’s going to happen.”  He thumbed over the bone under Ryan’s eye.

Ryan put a mental block up, refusing to hear what Brendon was saying.  “No, no,” he whispered, and pressed a couple frantic kisses to Brendon’s wrist.  “You’re gonna get old with me, and this will all just be an old memory.  We’ll be okay.”  Brendon shook his head, still holding Ryan’s face, and it was Ryan’s turn to get emotional.  “You’re not gonna leave me to live without you forever,” he said, desperately.  “You can't give up.”

Brendon swallowed, and Ryan could tell he was holding back tears.  “I’m sorry.  I'm sorry for you, I'm sorry for my parents; my mom couldn't even hold back tears and I'm not even dead yet.”

“Brendon, sweetheart, don't think like this.”  Ryan clenched his jaw.  “I know you want to be prepared, but you're just working yourself up.  You're gonna pull through this.”

“I'm trying, I want to stay with you, but it's hard, angel.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By tomorrow I'll be left in the darkness,  
> Amongst your cold sheets  
> And your shoes will be gone,  
> And your body warmth no longer beside me
> 
> But don't bring tomorrow  
> 'Cause I already know  
> I'll lose you  
> -Tomorrow // Daughter

Ryan started imagining what would happen, more and more, if Brendon were to really die.  He felt sick to his stomach when he thought of Brendon wilting away right in front of his eyes.  He thought of Brendon not waking up one day, dying in his sleep while Ryan held him.  He thought of Brendon crying in pain, clinging to him until it was too much and his heart stopped beating.  He could picture Brendon's bony figure in his mind, and it was nightmarish to think of him starving to death; malnourished.  Thinking about Brendon dying in front of him just make Ryan feel helpless to the situation.

Brendon wasn't having a good day when everyone came to visit, his room full of people—both his parents, Zack, Spencer, Jon, and Ryan.  He didn't want to talk much, and quietly told Ryan he had a pounding headache.  After a while—way too long—of everyone in the room conversing about their worry for Brendon's well-being, Ryan agreed with them, that, yes, things truly were bad for them right now, that Brendon was sick and probably getting sicker.  But Brendon cut them off, coughing and clearing his throat.  “I'm tired of everyone thinking I'm basically already dead.”  Ryan blinked down at him, and he shrugged.  “I don't want to die, I'm not ready to give up yet.”

“Bden, we don't want you to, either.  We just really want you to get better, and we’re worried that you won't,” Jon said.

“There's no way for us not to feel like this after the news,” Zack said.

“I just hear about people worrying about me all the time, and I don't want to hear it.”  He pointedly looked up at Ryan.  Ryan shook his head shortly, looking at Brendon again.

“Ryan worries about you because he’s with you all the time, more than anyone, and he watched all this happen to you,” Spencer said.

“It's not his fault,” Brendon said.  “It's just, I know I'm sick, obviously, I feel it everyday, and I don't want to be.  It makes it . . . frustrating to deal with when I'm in pain and it's all everyone around me talks about.”

The room was silent, and Ryan could practically feel guilt seeping off of everyone there.  “I'm sorry,” Ryan said.  “I don't think anyone can combat that.  We should really lighten up a bit.  Even though none of us have, like, given up hope with this whole thing, we shouldn't really keep talking about it so much.”

Brendon grabbed Ryan's hand, pulling it over his chest.  “Thank you.  I know you're all my support system with everything, always.  I just don't want to be constantly thinking about this, you know?”

There was a chorus of agreement across the room, so they complied to Brendon and didn't talk about it.  They caught up with Jon and Brendon's parents, learning about Brendon's family and siblings.  That was, until, Brendon got sick again—he looked up at Ryan, expression showing something was wrong.  Ryan squeezed his hand, and asked, “What do you need?”

“I'm really nauseous,” he exhaled.

“Need help?” Ryan offered.

Brendon nodded, and grasped the pole of his IV.  Ryan rounded the bed, aware of several pairs of eyes following him.  He bent slightly for Brendon to throw an arm around his shoulders, inched a hand under Brendon’s back, and pulled him out of bed.  Brendon leaned heavily into Ryan's hands, and for a moment, Ryan didn't see the point in trying to get Brendon to walk.  It would have been more efficient to just pick Brendon up and carry him into the bathroom, because Brendon was obviously too weak to support his own weight.  Ryan had to remember it was all for Brendon's mindset; he was determined he was stable, and would be getting stronger.  Ryan couldn't take that away from him.

A look of concentration came over Brendon’s face as he tried to take a step.  If possible, more of his weight transferred into Ryan’s side.  His legs were trembling, and an involuntary whine came out of him, which he tried to cover up with a cough.  Ryan hated hearing Brendon’s noises of pain, and it killed him that he couldn’t really do anything to help him.  Ryan realized how shocking Brendon’s feeble state must have been for everyone in the room—they were used to Brendon putting on a smile and pushing through with a fake energeticness, not this skeletal boy who physically could not walk.  It wasn’t that long ago, it had only been a couple months, since Brendon was out doing the routine theatrical show, singing and dancing and giving a stellar performance.

“There you go, baby boy,” Ryan said, trying to simultaneously encourage and comfort him.  Brendon dragged his IV with him, and was out of breath, nearly in tears, when they made it in the bathroom.

“My legs h-hurt,” Brendon said.  It always took Ryan by surprise, how Brendon would act tough, cold, and strong to the situation he was in around everyone else, but would let himself weep, tell exactly what was wrong when it was just Ryan there.  Ryan felt more comfortable being soft and loving to soothe Brendon, distract him when they were alone and Brendon was in pain.

Ryan kissed Brendon’s temple and rubbed his back.  “I’m sorry.”

Brendon grabbed the tan-mauve colored bin, sitting on the edge of the sink, and promptly vomited into it, which was the purpose of the thing being there.  Ryan kept an arm around Brendon’s torso, while Brendon pushed his palms into the counter for support.

There was no blood when Brendon threw up, which made some part of Ryan feel like there was progress.  Brendon’s eyes were so dark they were almost black, and there was apparent pain there, when he was done.  “Will you carry me?” He asked, seeming shy and embarrassed.  “It just hurts so much.”

“Of course,” Ryan accepted, and felt like he was suffocating a bit more; it was like he was watching Brendon give up in front of him.  Minding Brendon’s IV, Ryan wrapped his arms around Brendon’s body to carry him bridal style into the room of waiting people.  Brendon seemed more relaxed and less miserable.

“I wish you could hold me forever,” Brendon mumbled.  Ryan slowly set him down in bed.  Brendon was always fond of touching and being touched, and while he couldn’t initiate much, he still craved the feeling of Ryan as close as possible to him.  “I just want to go back to sleep,” he said, like he really needed it.

“Okay,” Ryan said, and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead again.

“Are you okay, B?”  Spencer asked, when Ryan stepped back from Brendon.

“Yeah, I’m just really tired.”

“We’ll leave you to sleep, honey,” Grace said.

“Thanks,” Brendon said.  Ryan petted his hair once.

“We’ll be down in the cafeteria,” Ryan said, mainly to Brendon but directed to the whole room.  “Text me if you need anything.  We should all be back before visiting hours end.”

“You don’t get to leave when visiting hours end,” Brendon said, with a hint of a smile, looking up at Ryan with droopy eyelids.  “Right?”

“No, I’m not going anywhere,” Ryan replied.

Leaving Brendon all by himself in the hospital room, the six of them made their way downstairs.  They all sat at one table, ignoring the selection of food and drinks.  Five pairs of eyes seemed to land directly on Ryan when they all sat down, and after staring for a few moments, Zack broke the silence.  “Ryan, we’re worried about you,” he said.

“All of you?  Are worried about me?” Ryan glanced around at all of them, all nodding in confirmation.  “Why?”

“We know how much this is impacting you, everything that’s happening with Brendon,” Jon said.

“I can tell it’s taking its toll on you,” Spencer said.

“I’m upset because of all of it, but that’s normal.  So are all of you.  Other than that, I’m fine.”

“Ryan, when was the last time you left the hospital?”

“Not since Brendon got admitted this time,” Ryan answered.

“And how long ago was that?”

 Ryan had to think about it, but it felt like a long amount of time.  “It’s been nine days.”

“That’s gotta be exhausting.  I can see that you are,” Jon said.

“You’re not getting enough sleep.  I’m sure even Brendon’s worried about you,” Zack said.

“You’re also really stressed, and that’s not helping anything,” Spencer added.

“No shit,” Ryan grumbled.  Brendon’s parents looked pained, and Ryan wasn’t sure if it was from his language or if it was pure pity.  Either way, Ryan didn’t care.

“We all know you love Brendon very much, dear,” Grace said.  “He knows it, too.  And that makes it feel necessary for you to be at his side at times like this.”  Ryan huffed inwardly.  He didn’t want advice, or words of wisdom.  “But you need to be taking care of yourself, too.”

“So we’ve all been thinking that it’s a good idea for you to go home tonight and get a goodnight’s rest—” Spencer began.  Ryan thought of how smart it was from Spencer to be the one to make a suggestion.  Spencer had always been Ryan’s best friend, his voice of reason.  Ryan would be most likely to listen to him.

“No,” Ryan automatically said.

“Why not?” Zack said, sounding almost defensive.

“I’m not willing to leave him all alone at night.”

“We’ll stay with him,” Grace said.

“We can take shifts the whole time he’s here,” Spencer said.

Ryan shook his head, feeling somewhere inside him that he had more of a right to stay with Brendon than anyone.  “What if something happens and I’m not there?” Ryan said.  “What if something happens to him?”

“Then you’ll be the first to get called in the middle of the night,” Jon said.

Ryan’s eyes burned, but he wasn’t going to let himself cry in front of all the people there.  “Brendon wants me here,” Ryan said, so it didn’t sound so selfish.  He knew it was bad enough for Brendon that they couldn’t sleep in the same bed, and couldn’t imagine the disappointment Brendon would feel if Ryan stopped sleeping in the hospital room.  “I can’t deny him anything now.”

“You can talk to him.  He’ll understand you,” Spencer said.

“There’s no way I’m making him feel guilty for me being tired.  And you know he’ll feel bad.”

“You don’t need to stay so protective,” Spencer continued, voice softer.

“There’s nothing you can do to help him, and we have to accept that, no matter how hard that may be,” Grace said.  Ryan was somewhat surprised to hear that coming from her out of all of them, but that didn’t mean Ryan was going to listen to it.

“None of you have to stay the night here.  But I choose to, and I will.”

“We just don’t want to see you completely miserable, too,” Jon said.

Ryan felt bad for being so snappy.  “I’m sorry,” he said, voice quieter.

“It’s okay, Ryan.  Our offer will stand as long as he’s here,” Boyd said.

“Thank you.  I appreciate it.”

They ate together, and everyone else talked, but Ryan stayed out of it.  His phone buzzed with a text, Brendon’s contact name lighting up his screen.  Ryan quickly opened the message, ready to drop everything and run to Brendon’s room at full speed if something was wrong.  Yet all the message contained were two small symbols: “<3”  Ryan grinned and responded with the exact same thing.

“We should probably go say goodnight, if Brendon’s awake,” Jon said.

“He is,” Ryan said, looking up from his phone.

Ryan led the way up to Brendon’s room, where Brendon was watching a movie.  He paused it when they walked in.

“We’re all gonna go home,” Zack said.

Brendon looked over all of them.  “Okay.  It was nice seeing you guys.”

“I’ll probably pop in at some point tomorrow,” Spencer said.

“Yeah, we’ll try not to overcrowd you too much again,” Jon said.

Brendon smiled.  “It’s fine.”

Everyone said goodnight, and started leaving.  “Go walk them out,” Brendon said to Ryan, before he sat down.  Ryan did so, although he walked in silence, leading them out of the main doors of the hospital.  Jon gave him a hug, and a look in the eyes of reassurance.  Ryan nodded and went back inside.

Back in the hospital room, Ryan pulled up a chair to the side of Brendon’s bed.  Brendon looked at the TV, hanging high up on the wall.  He had the remote in his lap, volume low.  Ryan didn’t bother to look, or comprehend what it was at first.  Out of a near habit, Ryan took Brendon’s hand.  “Thanks for letting me sleep a bit,” Brendon said, “even though it’s really hard without you here.”

“Well, then, sorry I left,” Ryan said, a dash of playfulness in his words.

“I still think I’m really lucky,” Brendon whispered.  “Not that I got sick, but that I’ve had this life so far.”

“Don’t get like this,” Ryan pleaded.  “You’ll pull through.”  
“I’m not trying to get sad when I say this, though.  Really, I’m lucky.  I’ve had all our friends, I’ve had the band, I’ve had you—that’s what really makes me feel lucky.”

“Yeah, B.  We’ve been lucky.”

“I really love you, you know that?  I mean it every time I say it.”

“I love you, too,” Ryan said with a smile, looking down to rest his forehead against Brendon’s.  “I can’t say it enough.”  Ryan put his lips to Brendon’s, body bent in what it felt like in half just so Brendon didn’t have to do any work.  Ryan only pulled away when he was able to convince himself that there was no possibility of it being their last kiss.  There would be more to come, more times to tell Brendon he loved him—more times than Ryan could fathom.  He tried to make it certain with himself—Brendon was okay, Brendon was alive, Brendon was right there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire fic is just a double hurt/comfort.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hurts exceptionally.

Ryan fell asleep, still holding Brendon’s hand at his bedside, sitting in a chair with his head bent forward.  He woke up, with Brendon looking at him.  Brendon was thumbing over his hand, already smiling when Ryan looked at him.  Ryan’s neck was sore from falling asleep in such an awkward position.  He’d somehow slept through the night, as the sun was shining through the window of the room.  “Morning, babe,” Brendon said.  “I didn’t want to wake you up and make you go to bed.  I know you have a hard time sleeping through the night, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said with a yawn.

Brendon reached out to touch Ryan’s hair, running his hand through it and rubbing at the knot in Ryan’s neck.  “Is there anything I can do for you?” Brendon asked, quietly.  “I know you’re, like, overly stressed.”

“No, B,” Ryan said.  “I’m okay.”

Brendon kept stroking Ryan’s hair.  “You need a break.”

Ryan shook his head.  “A break?  From what?”

“From sitting here all day.  You should do something fun.”

“No, no,” Ryan said.  “I don’t know what I’d be doing.  I’d rather be with you.”  Brendon was the one who needed a break, deserved it, from everything at the hospital to the sickness inside him.  Brendon’s fingers brushed under Ryan’s chin, just touching his face.

“You’re sweet,” Brendon said, “but really, I don’t want you to waste your whole day here.”

“I’ll just be worried about you if I leave,” Ryan said.

“Why?  What’s gonna happen to me?  Yeah, nothing.  Go out somewhere.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Go get me some food from outside the hospital,” Brendon said, half joking.  The request, of course, sealed the deal.  Ryan wouldn’t hesitate to do that for Brendon.

“If that’s what you really want me to do,” Ryan said.

Brendon smirked, close-lipped and pleased with himself.  “If that’s what it takes for you to see the daylight before you go stir-crazy, then yes.”

“I guess . . . what do you want, if I go out?”

“Shit, I don’t know.  Uh . . . get me some tacos.  Please.”

“Alright, I’ll do that.  Is there anything else you want?”

Brendon smiled then.  “Go home, and bring me a guitar.  I need to play.  It’s been too long.”

“Oh, okay, yeah.  That’ll be a good thing to have here.”

“Thank you.”

Ryan got dressed and ready at the hospital.  “You’ll call me if anything’s wrong, won’t you?  I’ll be close by, if you need anything at  _ all _ , just let me know.”

“Babe, it’s fine.  I’ll be fine.  Take your time.”

Ryan sighed, eyebrows furrowing with concern for a moment, before he had to let it go and trust Brendon’s judgement.  “I’ll be back soon,” he said.  He leaned down to kiss Brendon’s lips.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too.  Don’t worry too much.”

“I’ll try.”  Ryan kissed the tip of Brendon’s nose before they parted.

It was terribly sunny and warm outside, and Ryan could feel his mouth go dry the second he stepped out of the hospital.  Vegas summers, Ryan thought, were the reason he was so pale.  He always refused to go outside in that kind of heat.  Just from the walk to his car in the parking lot, he told himself that there was no reason for him to leave the hospital again, at least not without Brendon leaving with him.

Ryan put on his sunglasses and drove back home.  The house he shared with Brendon seemed empty without both of them there, like some vital piece was missing—everything felt faded and inanimate, yet too exposed.  It had always felt like that when Ryan was home alone, even if Brendon was just out buying sub-sandwiches by himself.

It was like Brendon’s presence was still there, but silent and stagnant; vacant and cold.  Brendon tended to keep the house neat, but his belongings were strewn everywhere, from the blankets on the couch to the glasses on the table.

Ryan picked up both Brendon’s and his acoustics off the wall in their room dedicated specifically to music, and locked them up in their cases.  He forced himself to not look for too long at the piano Brendon had spent hours picking when they moved in together.  Ryan would never be able to look at it and not think of how ecstatic Brendon was when it was put in the room, one of the first pieces of furniture in the house.  Brendon used to play for hours a day when they were at home, while Ryan never wanted to interrupt, could listen the whole time.

It had been months, Ryan realized, since he heard Brendon sing.

He laid the guitars in the passenger seat of the car, and headed back in the direction of the hospital.  The stop through Del-Taco was less than five minutes.  By the time he arrived at the hospital, it hadn’t even been an hour since he left.  He held everything at once, and took the stairs up to Brendon’s room.  He was ready to smile, to make Brendon smile.

Tacos sounded great, too.

Ryan had to expect Brendon to be in pain when he re-entered the hospital room, although he hoped Brendon was okay.  He was hoping he’d be able to make Brendon feel better with the things he brought him.

The door of Brendon’s room was closed, which was a bit puzzling for Ryan.  Perhaps Brendon was sleeping.  Ryan didn’t knock, but opened the door, trying to keep quiet.  Ryan’s eyes widened—Brendon was awake, head buried in his hands, crying silently.  Ryan sunk down on the edge of Brendon’s bed, looking at him.  “Brendon, hey,” Ryan began.

Brendon looked up at him, tear tracks bright on his face, cheeks reddened.  “H-hey,” Brendon stuttered, whispered.

“What happened?” Ryan asked, softly.

“I—I c-can’t—” Brendon whimpered, pressing his lips tightly together.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t  _ sing _ .”

Ryan paused for a moment.  “What do you mean?  You’re voice is beautiful, B.”

“I l-lost my voice,” Brendon said, eyes overflowing with tears.

“You’re just sick,” Ryan said.  “You’re really sick, you can’t expect yourself to sound normal.”

“It’s really bad.”

“Just breathe, okay?” Ryan reached over to brush the tears off Brendon’s face.  “It’ll get better.”

Brendon didn’t seem to believe Ryan, but made the effort to stop crying.  “I wanted to be able to perform.  I’m supposed to be a vocalist, but my voice . . .”

“You need to rest it right now, lover.  Don’t worry about it.  I brought your guitar,” Ryan tried.

“Thank you,” Brendon said, trying to wipe the tears out of his eyes.

“Do you want something to eat?  I brought quite a bit of food.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

A few hours passed before either of them touched the guitars.  Brendon started writing his own melody, eventually.  Ryan watched him, listened.  He suddenly stopped, the room going quiet.  “I wish I could sing,” Brendon muttered, mostly to himself.

“You can, if you want to,” Ryan said.

“I don’t know if I want to hear myself again.  I sound like shit.”

“It can’t be that bad; you’re just being hard on yourself.”

“It’s not even, like, my sick voice.  It’s just . . . gone or damaged or something,” he said, pressing his lips together.

“Maybe you’re just a little rusty, like, you haven’t sang in awhile, you haven’t had practice for months now.”

Brendon looked like he was debating something with himself.  “I wish I had just ignored being sick and finished the tour.”

“You would’ve been even more miserable.  It’s okay.  Maybe you should practice some, if you’re really worried about your singing.”

“Probably, but it feels . . . I don’t know, it’s really hard to breathe if I’m, like, exerting that much force.”

Ryan frowned.  “What hurts?”

“It feels like a lot of pressure on my chest, and my throat won’t just open like it should, and I just sound like I finished running a marathon.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Ryan said.  “Really, just wait until—”

“Wait until what?” Brendon burst out.  “What if I don’t get better, Ryan, what if this is it?  I can’t do anything, I’m fucking bedridden, if my voice is gone, then what am I going to do?”  Brendon was crying again, and Ryan could feel how distressed Brendon was.  Music was everything to him, and the thought of not being able to do his part in creating it must have to be terrifying to him.

“You’re in pain,” Ryan said.  “You have good days sometimes, when it doesn’t hurt so much.  Maybe you should try again then,” Ryan suggested.

“That’s not gonna help my voice,” Brendon said.

Ryan kept trying to comfort him, and Brendon seemed to grow increasingly distraught, worried that his singing voice was forever gone.  Eventually, Ryan had him sing to him, to see if it really was as damaged as Brendon made it out to be.  His throat, his airways, seemed to be blocked, and he was wheezing.  He physically couldn’t sing, his body wouldn’t allow it.  Brendon coughed a few seconds in, grabbing a tissue and putting it over his mouth.  It was flecked with blood when he stopped.

“You can’t breathe,” Ryan said.  “That’s not your voice, that’s your lungs.”

“And I need my lungs for my voice.”

“Take a break, really, you need it.  You’re straining yourself, you’re tearing your throat up, more than you need to be.”

“I’m coughing up blood, shit.”

“It’s just your throat, the tissue is bleeding or whatever.”

“I can’t sing,” Brendon said again.

“You need to heal.”

“I want some tea,” Brendon said.  “And an ice pack.  Can you get that for me, please?”

“Yeah, B.  Don’t work yourself too hard.”

There was a twisting feeling in Ryan’s stomach when he left Brendon’s room, like he had just faced another great loss.  It was just that Brendon’s voice had gotten them so many places, his voice worked wonders, and to have that taken away from them was shattering to some part of Ryan’s remaining hope.

He found some tea and a place to warm up some water.  It smelled pure and normal, steaming out the smell of the hospital.  Ryan knew Brendon was trying to heal his voice, get it back to its healthy state.  He would do anything to help him, but couldn’t help but wonder if the damage was permanent, if Brendon had really lost his voice.  He could only hope it wasn’t true.

Brendon smiled gratefully when Ryan returned with the tea.  “Thank you so much.  My throat is raw from from coughing so much, I think, and I’m freezing,” he said, sipping it carefully.  Brendon’s hands had been cold when Ryan passed over the tea, and Ryan sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped an arm around him and got their bodies as close as possible.  He rubbed light circles up and down Brendon’s back, deliberate as to not cause Brendon and his fragile skin any pain.

“I don’t want you to be cold,” Ryan said.  “Do you want me to see if we can get extra blankets?  Or, here, do you want these off my bed?”

Brendon smiled curiously at Ryan.  “No, I’m okay.  Thank you, really, though.”

Ryan felt uncomfortable; hollow inside, the rest of the night.  He laid in the dark, in his cot, wishing he had Brendon right next to him.  He craved to hold Brendon—it would be more than comforting, he’d be able to close his eyes, relax a little bit with Brendon nestled close to him.  He wondered if Brendon still ever wanted to be in his arms, or if it was only painful for him.  Through all the nights at the hospital, Ryan hated it more and more that he was sleeping without Brendon.  With a wave of nausea coming over him, he thought to himself that he might need to get used to it.

Ryan turned on his side to look at the rest of the hospital room.  He could hardly even make out Brendon’s silhouette in the closed off, dark room.  If he listened closely enough, he could hear the sound of Brendon’s breathing.  Ryan startled when it was interrupted with a sharper intake of air, and a quiet whisper of the word, “Ryan?”

“Yeah, B?”

“Okay, good, you’re awake,” Brendon said.

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“If we figured out how to play another Panic! show . . . would you sing?”

The question hung in the air for a few moments.  “I don’t know, I mean, it’s not . . . that’s a lot to think about.”

“Why?  Like, I’ll take your guitar parts.”

“I know, but, we can’t just randomly do that,” Ryan sighed.  “The press, the fans, they don’t know you’re sick.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“And they pay to see  _ you _ , not me.”

“We’ll probably have to cancel that show, then,” Brendon said, voice dreary.

“I . . . yeah, probably,” Ryan answered, truthfully.

“I’m—I’m gonna sleep now.  Goodnight,” Brendon said.  His words sounded like they were being squeezed out of his throat.

“Yeah, me too.  Goodnight.”  Ryan didn’t get out of bed to comfort Brendon, knowing when he shouldn’t, when to leave Brendon alone.  He was okay with Brendon lying about going to sleep, when they both knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, upset about something new.

Ryan figured it out, easily enough, what was bothering Brendon the most.  If neither Brendon nor his voice got better, made a full recovery, then that would be the end of that.  The band wouldn’t have a lead singer, a key component.  There wouldn’t be anyone else hired into the band; Ryan wouldn’t allow it.  The band would be over and done with, Ryan’s band.  There would be no Panic! At The Disco.  There would be no more shows.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of people crying in this chapter.

A month and a week had passed since Brendon’s diagnosis.  Ryan hadn’t spent a night outside the hospital in equally as long.  He felt worn thin, horribly exhausted.  He had to admit he was grateful beyond belief for the people who came to visit, just so he and Brendon didn’t get cabin fever and start snapping at each other.  They were bound to get annoyed with each other at times, after being enclosed together for such a long time.  The couple occasionally had minor disagreements, but Ryan somehow managed to keep them from fighting.  They didn’t need that, not with everything else going on.

Ryan felt like most days were spent in some sort of uncomfortable haze, from the environment of a hospital to how often he and Brendon sat in silence.  Ryan’s sleep wasn’t relieving or refreshing, only a minimal amount, necessary for his survival.  A couple weeks passed with nothing at all, no outbursts of emotion, just a dull buzzing inside Ryan like an outdated fluorescent light—he was aware, but numbed with tiredness.

Brendon was sickly.  Terminally ill.  That’s all there was to him.  He was thinner than Ryan could have ever imagined, and his skin was completely white, yellowing with sickness.  Ryan couldn’t think about it too much, or it hurt to wrap his mind around.  He tried to avoid facing his worries head on.

Ryan was on his fifth cup of coffee one morning, eyelids feeling particularly heavy, when Spencer knocked on the open door of the hospital room.  Spencer had brought Brendon a container of cupcakes.  Brendon was appreciative, and opened the packaging up to bite into one.  They smelled sweet, and Ryan closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over the warm mug of coffee.

Brendon finished the first one, the look on his face thanking Spencer more than his words could.  He held open the lid, and looked to Ryan, eyes lingering on his coffee for a moment.  “Baby—” he mouthed, but his voice was only a rasp.  He cleared his throat to try again.  “Baby, do you want one?” He offered, but his voice was wispy, a wheezing sound, like he had a cold and was losing it.  His eyebrows furrowed, and he reached up to grasp his throat.  “My voice is dying,” he said, just as broken.

It was hopeless if Brendon’s talking voice was damaged and gone by itself.  Ryan closed his eyes, and felt his throat close up at Brendon trying to cough his voice back into place.  Ryan couldn’t find the strength or energy to hold himself together, quietly sobbing in his corner.

He couldn’t handle how much he had to watch Brendon suffer and not be able to do anything to help him.

It was silent in the room aside from Ryan crying, and he knew both Brendon and Spencer were staring at him.  “Ryan, let’s go outside.  Let’s talk for a minute,” Spencer said.  Ryan sniffled and followed Spencer outside.

Ryan spilled his feelings to Spencer, how tired and suffocated he felt.  “I can’t do anything for him, and he can’t do anything for himself, and I’m scared he’s going to give up; I’m scared he already has.”

“I think you should talk to him more.  I don’t think you’ll worry as much if you keep conversation open.”

“We do talk about it, and this is so hard on both of us, I don’t know.  He thinks I’m gonna get tired of taking care of him and just stop.  He’s already worried about me—”

“And he has reason to be.  You’re exhausted and you work hard to keep him happy and comfortable.  Ryan, you need to talk to him right now, because he can see how stressed out you are,” Spencer advised.

“Okay,” Ryan nodded.  He wiped at his eyes and made himself stop crying.  Upon walking in Brendon’s room, Brendon opened his mouth to say something.  “I’m sorry,” Ryan instantly apologized instead, before Brendon could speak.

“No, no, hey, come here,” Brendon said, ignoring the quality of his voice.  He pulled on Ryan to sit on the edge of the bed, and started kneading at Ryan’s neck, soothing.  “I know how worried you are, baby, but I’m worried about you, too.  You’re exhausted, you don’t get enough sleep, I can’t even imagine how you feel.”

“I . . . you’re right, Brendon.  I’m sorry to worry you, I really don’t want to do that.”

“It’s okay.  I appreciate you sticking with me.  But I can’t see you like this, I love you too much,” Brendon said with a hint of a smile.  “You need to catch up on sleep.”

Ryan really did; he knew the lack of sleep was messing with him.  “I probably do, babe, but—”

“Go home, go home.  Don’t worry more.  Sleep, feel better,” Brendon insisted.

Ryan nodded in a vague agreement.  “Just know that you don’t have anything to worry about with me, alright?  I’m not really going anywhere.”

“I know,” Brendon said.  He tugged on Ryan slightly to connect their lips.

“Getting kicked out of my own boyfriend’s hospital room,” Ryan murmured.  “Ridiculous.”

Brendon laughed against Ryan’s lips.  “Well, you’re allowed back.”

Ryan petted Brendon’s hair.  “You taste like cupcakes,” Ryan said, allowing himself to smile with Brendon.

Brendon pulled away to grab the cupcakes, unwrapping one and taking a bite.  He then put the rest of the pastry to Ryan’s lips, feeding it to Ryan.  “Good, right?  Do you want to bring some home with you?”

“No, I’m okay.”  Ryan licked his lips and looked at Brendon, who had frosting smudged on his lips, and his hair was pushed up from where Ryan ran his hands through it.  “You’re adorable,” Ryan endeared.  “I love you.”

“I love you too.  Now go get some rest.  I’ll see you in the morning,” Brendon said.

“Okay.” Ryan kissed Brendon again.  “You’ll call me if -?”

“Yes, I know.”

And Ryan left the hospital.  On his way downstairs, he passed Brendon’s parents, on their way up to see him.  “I’m going home for the night,” Ryan said.

“Okay.  We’ll stay with him,” Grace said.

“You’ll have to fight Spence for that one,” Ryan said.

Ryan went home and stayed awake with persistent worry for Brendon.  He ordered a pizza, and ate a bit, before completely crashing in bed.  He fell asleep at around five in the afternoon, sleeping soundly.  His phone was on the pillow right next to his head, just in case.

The ‘just in case,’ ended up being important, when Ryan’s phone was ringing at three in the morning.  He blearily woke up, moving slow until he saw it was the hospital calling him.  Not Brendon, not one of the doctors, but just the hospital.  Ryan jolted awake and answered, saying, “Hello?” Before the line was fully connected.

“Mister . . . Ross?  We’re calling concerning patient Brendon Urie.”

“What is it?” Ryan asked frantically, already putting on shoes, on his way.

“He is requesting to have you here,” the voice on the other end said.

“I’m on my way,” Ryan said, breathlessly.  He calmed himself down—Brendon was alive, it was okay.  He expected the news he wasn’t ready for, would never be ready for.  He hated scaring himself like that, but he couldn’t help it—he had the constant fear that Brendon would let go at any moment.  That hadn’t happened the singular night Ryan was gone, which was somewhat of a relief, but there was still something wrong.  Ryan was on edge by the time he arrived at the hospital.  He knew something was seriously wrong, if Brendon hadn’t called Ryan himself, if Brendon was asking for him to be there at that hour.  He was shaking a little bit, and raced up the stairs.

Brendon’s parents, and a nurse, stood outside Brendon’s room.  They all seemed relieved to see Ryan. “He just wants to see you,” Boyd said.

Ryan took a breath and opened the door, closing it behind him.

He was met with the sound of breathless sobbing, and the begging, pleading of his name.  “Ryan, Ryan,” Brendon panted.  Ryan rushed over to him.

“I’m right here, my love,” Ryan said.  “I’m right here.”

Brendon was curled up in a fetal position, knees tucked close to his chest.  He had one hand over his chest, and the other bent out to reach for Ryan.  Ryan laced their fingers; Brendon’s palms were sweating.  “Ryan,” he said again.

“Talk to me,” Ryan said.  “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Come lay with me, please,” Brendon cried.

“Oh—okay.”  Ryan let go of Brendon’s hand and rounded the bed.  His chest hurt, listening to Brendon cry.  He lifted the tubing of Brendon’s IV carefully, and crawled in underneath it.  It was a tight space, but Brendon put himself in even more pain, shifting to nestle closer to Ryan.  “Hey, hey, sh, tell me what’s wrong,” Ryan said.

“I’m not gonna make it,” Brendon said, words overwhelmed.  “I’m sorry, it hurts so bad.”

“What are you talking about?” Ryan said.  His heart was pounding.  He couldn’t lose Brendon—it hit him full force, more than he ever felt it.

“I can’t do it.  It hurts,” Brendon whimpered.

“Oh, baby boy, it’ll go away,” Ryan tried.

“Hold me,” Brendon sobbed.  “One last time.”

“Brendon . . .” Ryan followed the request, putting his arms around him.

“I love you.  I love you so much.  Tell me you know that.”

“Of course,” Ryan said.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Brendon said.  Ryan bit his lip in his stress, his fear.  Brendon had only called him to say goodbye.

“You’re not going anywhere, you’re going to be okay.”  Ryan squeezed Brendon’s hand.  “You’re so strong, my love, I know you can do this.”

“I love you,” Brendon repeated.

“I love you, too.  Hold on for me.”  Ryan kissed along Brendon’s jaw.

“I’m sorry I’ve made your life hell the last few months,” Brendon said.

“No, no, you haven’t.  It’s okay.”

“You’ll be okay.  You’ll be okay without me.  Fuck, I hope you’ll be okay.”

Ryan didn’t know how Brendon could say such a thing to him.  Ryan still simply couldn’t picture a future without Brendon living it with him.  He slipped his hands up beneath Brendon’s clothing to feel his skin, resting a hand on his heart, the other on his abdomen.  “Don’t leave me,” Ryan whispered, feeling his heartbeat.  “Please try for me.”

“It  _ hurts _ and it won’t stop.  I’m so tired, I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t going to be it, Brendon, you’ll get over this.”

“I’m tired,” Brendon wept.  “I don’t know if I’ll just fall asleep or if I’m really that close to dying.”

Ryan’s breath hitched.  He knew it was a possibility; if something took too much energy out of Brendon, because he was so weak, his body could shut down.  It had been awhile since the amount of pain had made him fall unconscious.  It could be that much worse, take that much more of a toll on Brendon, that it could end his life.  “Don’t fall asleep, sweetheart,” Ryan said.  “Just stay awake with me, alright?  Wait for this to pass.”

“I’ll try.”

The pain medication dripping from the IV into Brendon’s body simply wasn’t helping him.  Ryan gently stroked the skin underneath Brendon’s shirt, looking to soothe him, even if it only made a little bit of a difference.  When he started sobbing again, obviously from the physical pain and nothing else, Ryan attempted talking more.  “You’re okay, sh, sh, you’ll feel better soon.”

“Ryan, I think this is it.”

Ryan kissed Brendon’s neck.  “Don’t think about it.”

“I c-can’t.”

“Think about how good you’re going to feel, when this is all over.  You’ll just be warm and—and you can laugh and you’ll never have to feel like this again.  Just get through it, Brendon, BrennyBear.”

“I just want to sleep.”

In that moment, the door opened, light flooding in.  Brendon’s head turned so he could cry into the pillow, and Ryan let go of him.

“We have stronger pain medicine,” the figure in the doorway said.  Ryan sat up, and Brendon fidgeted a bit beside him, to which Ryan put a hand on his back, letting him know he could remain comfortable laying down.

“Good, good, okay,” Ryan said, giddy at that news.

“We need you to sign consent to meds this strong.  There are some side effects listed here, with some prices and insurance plans, and you can sign here . . .” Ryan took a clipboard and a pen, without hesitation, signing.  The IV was already being changed out, Brendon hiding his tear stained face.  Once the drip started, the nurse left more information with Ryan on the medication, and turned off the light.  Ryan ignored the papers in favor of crawling back in bed with Brendon.

“Starting to feel any better?” Ryan asked, slipping his hands under Brendon’s clothing again.

“Not yet,” Brendon said, voice shaky.

“Okay.”

Brendon composed himself to say, “Can I ask you something?  It’ll help me out some.”

“Anything,” Ryan said.

“Are you—” Brendon grimaced.  “Are you ready to live without me?  Like, have you thought about it enough by now to be ready?  It’s not really going to ch-change anything, but I want to know that you won’t be a complete mess or get really depressed after I’m gone.”

Ryan gulped.  No, he wasn’t ready for any of it, but he had to keep Brendon at ease, couldn’t seem too upset himself.  “I don’t want to lose you.  But you already know that.”  He couldn’t say anymore—any of the possible ways to tell Brendon a lie or tell him the truth made Ryan feel guilty.  If he told Brendon he had been trying to think about life without him, it would seem like he didn’t have hope for Brendon to live.

But he was only filled with stale hope anymore, with Brendon knowing he wasn’t going to survive.

If Ryan told Brendon what a wreck he was going to be, how it would be abruptly taking the light and color out of his life if Brendon was gone, then Brendon would, in turn, be even more upset.

If Brendon was going to die, then Ryan at least didn’t want to be the cause of his lover’s sorrows.

Brendon had quieted at Ryan’s few words, and there was only the tension of pain in the air, the unwillingness for the moment to be anything different.  “I might faint again.  I’m sorry if I do.  I don’t know what will happen, but.  Yeah,” Brendon said, monotonous.

“Meds working?”

“I think so, a little bit.  It’s . . . it’s dull pain instead of sharp now.”

“Okay.  I’ll read up on it more for you.”

Brendon was quiet again, tired from crying.  “I love you, Ryan,” he said, finally.  “You’ll know that forever, right?”

Ryan closed his eyes and exhaled, feeling too weighed down by Brendon’s words.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I guess so.”

“You have to.”  
“I love _you_ , B.  I’ll know that forever.” 

Some form of tension seemed to leave Brendon’s body.  “Then I’m going to fall asleep, baby.  I love, love you.”

“Brendon,” Ryan said, in a state of utter fear that Brendon might let go.  “Brendon, Brendon.”

“You know I can only do that with you here.”

Ryan held him a bit tighter.  “And I’ll be here when you wake up,” Ryan choked.

He couldn’t sleep, just waiting.  He didn’t try any longer to keep Brendon awake—he never could bear to see Brendon in misery when he could let him be at peace.

With shallow breaths, Ryan continued thumbing the skin of Brendon’s abdomen, in time with the persistent beat of Brendon’s heart under Ryan’s palm.


	11. Chapter 11

Brendon awoke that morning, and Ryan had never been happier to see him.  He kissed Brendon deeply; it was short because Ryan couldn’t contain a smile.  “Hey, hey, yeah, good morning,” Brendon croaked, brushing Ryan off.  “My fucking voice.”  He clawed at his throat, like it would make some impact.

Ryan was hardly disheartened, and moved in to press his lips to Brendon’s throat.  “Tea, right?” Ryan asked, nuzzling Brendon’s shoulder.

“I’d appreciate it,” Brendon said, leaning back, pushing Ryan away.  Ryan didn’t really notice, or comprehend it, and cupped Brendon’s face with another kiss before leaving the room.  The hallways were empty, and Brendon’s favorite kind of tea was available.  Ryan wasn’t keen on being without Brendon after the ordeal of the night before, but it would be worth it to help Brendon, to take some of his pain away.  He wanted to get back to Brendon, keep holding him, kiss him more.

Generally, Ryan was cheerful when he stepped in the room and saw Brendon again, except—except Brendon wasn’t cheerful about seeing him.  Ryan was smiling from the doorway, but Brendon didn’t smile back, biting his lips instead.  He broke eye contact with Ryan, looking to the side of the room.  “Brendon?” Ryan asked, not knowing if Brendon was in pain or what the issue was.  “What’s wrong, my love?”

“Don’t call me that,” Brendon snapped.

“What?” Ryan said, a little shocked, a little disbelieving.

“Don’t—Don’t . . .” He trailed off.  “Here, just.  Sit down, I want to talk to you.”

Ryan’s stomach was already in knots, but he sat beside Brendon anyway.  “What’s going on, B?” Ryan didn’t reach for Brendon’s hand like he normally would.

Brendon cleared his throat.  “I’m going to die, Ryan.  I know that, you know that; we both have for a while.”  Brendon looked like he was expecting Ryan to affirm this, but Ryan didn’t say a word.  “And that’s really hard on both of us, especially now, after everything . . .”  Brendon was being too careful with his words, and Ryan didn’t like it, knew something was seriously off.  “What I mean is, I know how much you’re struggling with this, you’re watching it all happen to me, and I’ve been awful, not trying to hide it, laying it all on you . . . It’s hurting you, Ryan.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Ryan already knew Brendon was worried about him, but Brendon didn’t need to feel guilty.

“You shouldn’t have to see this.  You shouldn’t be here.  It’s already over, it’s only going to hurt us more if—”

“If what?”

“If you stay with me.”  Brendon stopped, unable to look at Ryan.  At first, Ryan didn’t understand, not really, the extent of what Brendon was saying.

“We’ve talked about this—I’m going to be right here with you, I’m not going anywhere,” Ryan said.

Brendon shook his head.  “I . . . I don’t want you here with me anymore.  I’m letting go of everything, so it can just be over.”

Ryan couldn’t have felt more hurt, Brendon couldn’t have said anything more painful to him.  “Brendon, you don’t really mean that, do you?  I thought—”

“I don’t want to have to see you everyday, I don’t want to be with you anymore, when I’m just going to die.”

“Are you seriously breaking up with me?” Ryan whispered.

“I mean . . . yes, I am breaking up with you.”

Ryan spluttered a bit.  “Just last night you were telling me—”

“I meant everything I said.  I’m not taking that back.  But I need this to be over so I don’t have such a hard time letting go.”

“I can’t just leave you, Brendon.  I guess this makes sense, but you’re killing me with this.  I’m willing to—I want to—stay with you until it’s over.”

“It is over, you don’t understand.  There’s nowhere to go from here.  You said you didn’t want me to leave you, you didn’t want to lose me, but it’s going to happen either way.  It’s only going to hurt less like this, and it’ll help me.”

Ryan pursed his lips, rubbing the side of his face nervously.  “This  _ does _ hurt me.  Please, please, think about this more, Brendon.  Think about us.”  He looked into Brendon’s dark chocolatey eyes, the boy he’d given all his love to, every emotion.

“I’m really loyal.  I wouldn’t want to end this for any reason besides what I’ve given you.  I know it’s what I need.”

Ryan continued the sentence for him.  “And you know I’d do anything to help you.”

“I’ll feel better if you just go,” Brendon said with a grimace.  “It hurts me too.”

There were tears in Ryan’s eyes, knowing he couldn’t beg for Brendon to change his mind.  “I’ll miss you,” Ryan said.

Brendon nodded.  “I’ll miss you, too, but, I’m gonna try not to think about it.”

Still in a state of shock, Ryan felt like the ceiling was caving in, like he was drowning.  Brendon was ending their relationship, everything they’d ever done together, every touch and every loving gesture they’d ever made, torn to bits when Ryan was least expecting it.  Through everything, since Brendon got sick, Ryan had been thankful for the constant love passed between them, a strong relationship in the midst of everything.  He had expected to lose everything all at once, lose the love and Brendon altogether, but now it was more torturous in a way; the heartbreaks would be dragged out longer.  His love for Brendon was registered in him before his heartbreak, and he found himself standing up to leave.

“If you feel differently, or if something happens, you need anything, I’ll still be ready to do it for you.  I’ll still always be here for you.  That’s not going to—”

“Ryan, Ryan,” Brendon cut him off, dark eyes swirling with cold, “just leave.  You’re only making it worse.  You won’t be seeing me again.”

Brendon couldn’t realize how bad he was breaking Ryan, how torn apart Ryan was.  He looked down at Brendon in the hospital bed, feeling a pull in his gut of love, of hurt that he couldn’t have it anymore.  All he wanted was to kiss Brendon, kiss him goodbye, if he wasn’t  _ ever going to see him again _ .  Wanted to tell him how much he loved him, how much he meant to him, one last time.  And he couldn’t do it.

Ryan met Brendon’s eyes, knowing he must have looked pathetically emotional, desperate for a change of Brendon’s heart.  Ryan searched Brendon’s face, memorizing frantically.  It was, after all, the last time Ryan would see Brendon’s face, eyes looking back at him.  Unless, Ryan thought, it was an open casket funeral.

Brendon buried his face in his hands as Ryan left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was personally pained writing this chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

“Brendon broke up with me.”  Ryan stood in Spencer’s doorway, not willing to go home and feel Brendon’s presence everywhere.

“What?  Oh, Ryan, come in,” Spencer said, stepping aside for Ryan.  Ryan sat on Spencer’s couch, right next to Jon, who had just so happened to be there when Ryan arrived.  Spencer followed him, looking confused.  “So what happened?” He asked.

“Brendon broke up with me,” Ryan repeated.  “Told me to leave, that it was over.”

“What happened?” Jon asked, equally alarmed as Spencer.

“I really didn’t see it coming,” Ryan said, staring off, unable to answer in detail.  “We weren’t even fighting.  I didn’t think he would ever want this.”

“What did he say?” Spencer asked.  With a bit more coaxing, Ryan told them the events of the night before, Brendon thinking he was going to die and calling Ryan in to say goodbye, him waking up okay, then telling Ryan it would hurt more if they stayed together until Brendon died.

“I’m never going to see him again.  He doesn’t want me to.  I tried to talk him out of it and it just—”

“We’ll go talk to him,” Jon said.  “Right, Spence?  We’ll see what he tells us.”

“He probably needs to hear it from someone else.  He’ll really be lonely without you, and I know he doesn’t want that for himself,” Spencer said.  Ryan only felt more sad with the image of Brendon lying alone with no one to talk to in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, nobody to give him extra blankets when he was cold, nobody to make him a bed of pillows when his ribs hurt to the point of tears.

How could Brendon just end things, after everything they’d been through together?  Ryan couldn’t understand it, when they were both so in love, and Brendon just didn’t want it anymore.  The way Brendon presented it, so emotionless, without any true pain behind his words at making Ryan go, resonated in Ryan’s mind.

“This isn’t right, Ryan, I know he loves you,” Jon said.

“He said he’ll miss me,” Ryan said, still distant.  “If he’ll miss me, then why did he do it?  Wouldn’t it be better to just let go, all at once?”

“I don’t know, Ryan.”

“I should’ve told him I loved him one more time.  What if he thinks I don’t?  What if he thinks I don’t care, that this really is better for me?  I just want to be with him.”

“He knows you care about him, Ryan,” Spencer said.  “That’s more than apparent, especially after how much you’ve been taking care of him.  He’s going to regret this.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Ryan said, but it was mostly to himself.

“I need to go talk to him,” Spencer said.  “He’ll be crying for you back in, like, a day.  He shouldn’t have hurt you like this.

“Please don’t get mad at him,” Ryan requested.  “He’s so sick, he doesn’t need—”  
“Come on, you’ve gotta be kinda pissed at him over this,” Jon said.  “He’s being selfish.”

“Just because he’s dying doesn’t give him entitlement to ruin his whole relationship with you, for some bullshit reason,” Spencer backed.

“I don’t think he can really see anything other than him dying,” Ryan said.

“We’ll just,” Jon stopped, glancing at Spencer, then Ryan.  “We’ll just go visit him, and hopefully he’ll regret this, and it’ll be okay.  It’ll be okay.  Yeah, Spence?”

“Yeah, let’s go.  Ryan, if you don’t want to go home, you can stay here for as long as you want,” Spencer offered.

Ryan didn’t want to go home.  It would be too overwhelming.  Spencer’s place was a good neutral zone for Ryan to process everything.  “Thank you,” Ryan muttered, before Spencer and Jon left.

He fell asleep on Spencer’s couch, exhausted from not enough sleep the night before and too many emotions to register.  His phone remained in his pocket, but it did not ring to wake him.  He didn’t dream, finally resting.  When he did wake up, he felt rested, yet that may not have been the best thing for him.  He could feel everything, think clearly, without tiredness to distract him or dull the pain.

Brendon was his everything.

Ryan couldn’t treat it like a normal breakup no matter how hard he tried.  There was such a strong pull for Ryan to go back to him, to desperately try to make up with him again, get back together.  But time was limited, and he would feel bad for guilting Brendon into anything at that point in his life.  Ryan couldn’t face the reality of it being the beginning of his life without Brendon.  He wished he could go home, and have Brendon be there, waiting for him; everything would be normal again.

Spencer and Jon came back together, and Ryan only looked at them expectantly.  “You’re boyfriend,” Jon said, “is incredibly stubborn.”

“‘Boyfriend?’”

“I refuse to accept your breakup.”

Ryan sighed.  “What did he say?”

“He really didn’t want to leave you,” Spencer started.  “He really didn’t.  But no matter how much we told him it’s not a good thing for either of you, he wouldn’t believe it.  He thinks you’ll handle this better than having to watch him get worse.”

“And he just wants me to live with this?  I can’t do that.”

“He’ll figure that out,” Jon said.  “But for now you just have to, until he comes around.”

Ryan feared Brendon wouldn’t take him back until it was too late.

Spencer and Jon proceeded to apologize again for everything that had happened.  Everything that had made Ryan’s life come caving in around him.

Ryan had grown to hate the dizziness of surrealism.


	13. Chapter 13

All Ryan wanted was to stop thinking about Brendon.  He wanted that more than he wanted Brendon himself.  If he thought about how much he loved Brendon, it was only sickening that they were apart.

He stayed at Spencer’s house for two nights, trying to get accustomed to not seeing Brendon.  It wasn’t happening.  He had to leave, because he was starting to feel an involuntary, furious jealousy boiling up at Spencer and Jon, who knew more about Brendon’s condition, knew how he was feeling better than Ryan.  Ryan hated himself for it, for feeling possessive of Brendon when Brendon didn’t want him anymore.  He didn’t want to feel upset with his best friends over his own breakup, either.  They were the ones who were treating Brendon well while Ryan couldn’t.  He should have been thankful for that, but he just wasn’t, as he wanted to be the one who was there with him.

Ryan had nowhere to go besides home, his and Brendon’s house.  He dreaded it; everything would remind him of Brendon, of him and Brendon together.  It was the middle of the night when he left Spencer’s house, and he hadn’t told him he was leaving.  He couldn’t deal with waking up to watch Spencer go to the hospital without him again.

He pulled up to the front of the house, and parked the car.  He didn’t go in, instead getting a sharp dose of mental images, all with Brendon with him.  He thought of how Brendon had remained smiley and cheerful when they were moving in, to keep Ryan neutralized when he was stressed.  He thought of the time Brendon had accidentally left the windows open, and Ryan had been singing, then was comforted by Brendon from the embarrassing thought of someone else hearing him.  He thought of Brendon pouting when they left for tour, as he didn’t want to leave the house for two months, and Ryan simply assured him they would stay home for a long while when they returned.  He thought of coming home from tour, helping Brendon inside and to bed, drowsy with fever.  He thought of the times he carried Brendon in, carefully, Brendon’s happiness and appreciation for living with Ryan gone with devastation.

Ryan’s fingers itched to reach for Brendon’s hand across the console, but he was alone.

Still unable to find the emotional strength to go inside, Ryan rested his head on the steering wheel of the car.  His knuckles pressed into his temples, and he fell asleep with lingering thoughts of Brendon, how he couldn’t accept living without him.

When he woke up in the morning, in front of the house, recognition and memories flooded too quickly, and he almost began crying.

He had missed calls and texts from Spencer, worried from his absence.  Ryan returned his call, warily - he had no desire to talk to Spencer.

“Where are you?  Are you okay?” Spencer demanded.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m fine,” Ryan said.  “I just needed to leave.”

“It couldn’t have waited until morning?  Ryan -”

“Can I talk to you later, Spence?  I’m just not feeling too great.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, then said, “Yeah.  Yeah, keep in touch.”

“I will.”

Ryan changed his clothes in the car, from the overnight bag he had at Spencer’s, and the hospital before that.  He had nothing to do - it was brutal to be left alone with no distraction from his thoughts, but it wouldn’t be better if he was with a friend and had someone to talk to about it.

He was afraid he would have to live the rest of his life in the same mood, without Brendon, his only love, living beside him.  There would be mystery to accompany his loneliness.  When Brendon died, Ryan would never know if he thought of him, if he missed him, if he wanted him to be there for comfort.

Yet Ryan was supposed to know that Brendon loved him.  Ryan couldn’t grasp that or believe it when Brendon had damaged all of Ryan’s emotions.

He weakly thought that to accept him and Brendon being over, he should figure out something to do besides sit around and over-think about him.  There was nothing he could do to have that happen.  It was far too soon to reach acceptance, Ryan supposed.

Right when Ryan was about to find somewhere to eat, his phone rang again.

A phone call meant hope that it was Brendon, guilt for thinking as such, and blatant disappointment that it was someone else.

_ Incoming call --- Pete Wentz _

Ryan hadn’t spoken with Pete since he told him about the diagnosis.  It had been awhile, too long.  He couldn’t control the numb bitterness in his voice as they greeted each other.

“Are you celebrating or anything about the news?” Pete asked.

He felt miserable at the idea at celebrating anything.  Nothing was really worth it.  “What news?” He asked.

“You know, the VMA thing,” Pete said, as if Ryan was the one being too nonchalant.

Ryan didn’t know what he was talking about.  “VMAs?”

“Yeah, yeah, like, that’s a big deal . . .”

“I don’t know what you mean, actually.”

“Your manager called you yesterday to tell you about the nomination . . . for video of the year?  At the VMAs?  You didn’t space that, did you?”

“I never got a call from anyone,” Ryan said.  “I . . . seriously?”

“I know for a fact your manager called Brendon, and I figured he definitely would have told you.  But how is Brendon doing?  How’s he holding up?  Is he -”

“I wouldn’t know, Pete,” Ryan cut into Pete’s ramblings.  There was bitterness in his voice.  “I haven’t talked to him in a few days.”

“You - you haven’t?” Pete asked, caught off guard.  “What happened?”

“He broke up with me,” Ryan informed.  “He doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Why, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Yeah, he, um,” Ryan gulped, and there was a lump forming in his throat as he was forced to picture Brendon crying in his arms, Brendon’s eyes searching when he told Ryan to leave.  “He said that, uh, I would lose him either way, because he’s, you know, terminally ill, so, it would, like -” Ryan’s eyes were burning, and it was bad, he couldn’t be crying, no, no, no, not around Pete, not over this.  He hadn’t cried yet since Brendon left him, and he didn’t want to.  Ryan bit his lip, falling silent just to blink back tears.

“Ryan?  You there?”

Ryan sniffled.  “Yeah, sorry.”

Pete exhaled audibly on the other end.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just -” Ryan’s voice caught and gave out on him.  “He - he thinks this is better for me, and it’s really not, you know?”

“You would rather have the alternative of staying with him until he passes?”

“I feel like I need to be with him.”

“I can’t believe . . . Brendon.”

Ryan knew what Pete meant - how shocking it still was that they were all going to lose Brendon.  “I miss him,” Ryan whispered.

“That’s gotta be hard, Ryan, I can’t even imagine.  If you need to talk, or if there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.  I mean it,” Pete said.  “And I know it’s really far, but if you want to just escape, you’ve got a place to stay in Chicago.”

“Really?” Ryan said, thinking about how much better he would feel out of Vegas.

“Yeah, of course.  If you want to do that.”

“Actually, that might be kinda nice.  I keep just wanting to go to the hospital and see him, but I know I can’t.  And I lived with Brendon, so it’s too hard to deal with being at home and seeing him everywhere,” Ryan confessed.

“That’s not good for you,” Pete said.  “Get out for a bit.  Clear your mind.”


	14. Chapter 14

Ryan had bought a plane ticket to Chicago and was at the airport before he started to feel worried about Brendon again.  If Brendon died and Ryan was halfway across the country, if Brendon had a change of heart, if Brendon wanted Ryan again . . .

He had already told those who would worry about him that he was going to Chicago, and he went alone.  The temporary change would be good, the break in constant sorrow from their home in Vegas.  He might even need a permanent change if he was going to lose Brendon from his life forever.

Ryan never could sleep on planes, yet he was still asleep when the plane was landing in Chicago.  Everything going on kept getting more and more exhausting.  He wondered if that was what Brendon felt like as his sickness continued, but Ryan went back on that.  Never in his life would he feel pain to the extreme Brendon had.

Ryan couldn’t help the urge of protectiveness he had, the instinct to keep him safe and comforted.

Naturally, Ryan thought about that way too much, dreaming of how much he wanted to see Brendon again.  He cried in the airport bathroom, silently, attempting to make himself seem as normal as possible again when he saw Pete.  His eyes were still red, as he couldn’t stop the tears from welling up over and over.

Pete helped him put his bag in the back of the car, and drove him out of the airport parking lot.  “How was your flight?” Pete asked casually, acting like he didn’t notice the burning red around Ryan’s eyes.

“It was okay,” Ryan managed.

“That’s good.  You’ll probably just want to sleep when we get back, huh?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can at least try, if you want.”  Pete shook his head.  “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you right now.”

Ryan looked out the window.  “I can’t when I’m thinking about him.”

“Maybe . . . maybe we should find something to do out here, take your mind off everything going on in Vegas.”

“Yeah.  Maybe,” Ryan said, though he didn’t believe anything would be able to shift his focus from Brendon.

“I think I’ll call up the guys and we can go out for dinner or something,” Pete said, but he was somehow still sounding concerned about Ryan.

Ryan knew he seemed cold and standoffish, and he didn’t want to be like that with Pete, but he felt distant from reality as a whole, half lost in thought.  “Thank you for letting me come out here, really,” Ryan said.

“It’s the least I could do.

<<<<<>>>>>

Ryan had no choice but to open up - hanging out with Pete, Patrick, Joe, and Andy, he got choked up at the mention of the band.  “We were invited to play the VMAs since Panic! declined,” Patrick said.  They’d been discussing the schedule of Fall Out Boy for the rest of the summer, but Ryan only became truly aware at the mention of Panic!

“Declined?” He asked.  He couldn’t say he was surprised, but he hadn’t had any part in declining to perform - he didn’t even known they had the opportunity.  All he knew was that they had been nominated for video of the year.  Brendon would’ve been the one with all the details, expected to pass it on to Ryan.

“Yeah, Brendon, um, did that,” Patrick said.  Pete must have told them that Brendon left Ryan, as it was touchy.

Brendon had accepted that he wouldn’t be able to perform again.  Ryan wondered if he was completely beside himself at having to do that.  “I feel so bad for him,” Ryan said, and that was when his voice caught.

Everyone was quiet in order to listen to him, and maybe it was because they didn’t know what to say.

“It’s just, like, it wasn’t really his choice, you know?  He told me he still wanted to perform, he would’ve loved to have been able to do this.”

“It’s not realistic for him to do that.  He made the right decision,” Pete said, carefully.  Ryan knew it was really for the best that Brendon didn’t perform, as he couldn’t walk, couldn’t sing.  Ryan was hurt that Brendon didn’t at least call him to tell him such important news for the band.

Brendon really did want to cut all ties with him.  Ryan couldn’t bear it.  “I wish he’d told me.  I wish I could’ve been there with him to help him cope.  I - I miss him so much, I just -”

“You could go back to him,” Andy said.

“He doesn’t want to see me again.”

“Maybe he regrets it,” Joe added.

“He loves you,” Pete said.  “It wouldn’t be surprising if he just took you back.”

“Maybe you should consider it,” Patrick said.  “He probably still wants your support.”

Ryan was quiet once more, processing.

“You should try, Ryan, when you go back home.  You’re just going to keep missing him more and more of you don’t do anything,” Pete said.

“But what if he still doesn’t want to get back together?  Then - then I think it’ll just be worse.”

“It’ll just get worse right now,” Patrick said.

“Take the risk,” Andy recommended.

Ryan considered it, thought about simply walking into Brendon’s hospital room one day, unexpected to him, and sitting down to tell him how much he missed him.  In the best scenario, Brendon would ask him to stay, would still want Ryan with him until the end.  Ryan feared it would go the opposite way for him - that it was more likely for Brendon to tell him to leave again and never come back.  Ryan didn’t know how he’d be able to handle that, but he couldn’t live with where he was without Brendon.

He felt it would be too unresolved if Brendon died and the last time they saw each other was when Brendon broke up with him.

The longer he sat on the idea, the more he felt he needed to see Brendon.

A couple days passed of Ryan staying in Chicago, and Pete comforted him every time he cried, every time he talked about Brendon.  He felt better in Chicago, being able to go around town and hang out with Pete.  He could get distracted from constant thought of Brendon for the first time in months.

It helped him have the courage to go back to Vegas with the plan of getting back together with Brendon.

With the bit of hope, he couldn’t control being wrapped up in the idea of having Brendon again, completely.  It seemed such a bright outlook, he couldn’t feel too worried.  He wasn’t prepared to in the slightest for another heartbreak.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to cecilkirk for letting me reference the beautiful fic Flat Washers and Broken Wrists in this chapter! Go check out that fic!

he plane ride back home was no different than the one to Chicago, as Ryan couldn’t close his eyes for more than a few seconds without getting caught up in thoughts of Brendon.  It was early afternoon, Vegas time, when his plane landed, and he went straight home, with solid plans of going to the hospital and seeing Brendon the next morning.  He was ready to see him again, confess how much he missed him—how much worse it would be if they were apart and Brendon was alive.

If Ryan was the one dying, he would want Brendon there constantly, would want him there when he took his last breath.

He was too tired when he got home to come up with something elaborate to present to Brendon.  The air in the house still felt stifling, but he could ignore it - mostly - since he  _ knew _ he was going to get Brendon back.  The house, and all the things in it, was both Ryan’s and Brendon’s, shared.  He pushed it to the back of his mind that he was going to lose Brendon forever, in favor of thinking about having him back in his arms.

Before going to bed, Ryan wanted to change out of his tight jeans, into a warm pair of sweatpants.  He wanted anything that would aid him in falling asleep.  He searched through the pile of his clothes in the closet, a mess next to the organization of Brendon's clothing.  After looking through the unorganized stack of clothes on the ground, Ryan still hadn't found the specific pair of sweatpants he was looking for, and he was more aggravated than anything.

There was a shelving unit in front of him, which held shoes, but Ryan could see there was more clothing on the top.  Ryan was tired, and he vaguely wondered if it was really worth it for him to be climbing to the top of the shelf, as he was.  His feet were planted on the fourth shelf up, and he leaned over the top to look through the clothes up there.

He still didn't find the pair he was looking for, and he let go of the shelf with the intention of climbing back down.  It was not a well-strategized move, and suddenly he was falling, back hitting the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him and causing a sharp pain to spring up in his left shoulder.  He involuntarily yelped in pain, unable to breathe and feeling blinded by the intense pain.  After catching his breath, he sat up, with eyes watering, and found that the pain was so bad, he couldn't move his entire left arm.  He’d fallen hard, and realized the bone was probably fractured.  The pain wouldn't have been that overwhelming if it wasn't.

He gulped, sitting still for a moment to get used to the pain.  His vision cleared, and he put more thought into it, what to do if he had a broken shoulder.  There was no problem moving his right arm, and he used it to stand up.  He knew he would need to see a doctor and get it checked out at some point, but wondered if he could take his painkillers and sleep it off.  By that point, he didn't even feel that tired, though, and only wanted to treat his shoulder.

The only pain medication Ryan found in the bathroom cabinets was all Brendon's, but Ryan was a bit afraid to take it.  The pills were stronger than what he would normally buy over the counter, and he didn't quite feel comfortable taking the ones available at the moment.

The pain was only getting worse.  He knew he wasn't going to fall asleep with that much pain in his body.  It wasn't like it was the middle of the night; Ryan's body was only telling him that it was.  He made the decision to drive himself to the ER, since he didn't have a normal doctor to go to, and he didn't want to wait to make an appointment somewhere.

He knew his way to the hospital well, but didn't think about why, just started to become irritated with the fact he was going to have to get used to having a broken shoulder.  He felt somewhat awkward walking into the hospital alone, a whole day earlier than he had planned.  Hesitantly, he walked up to the front desk.  He was kindly sent up to the third floor to wait for an x-ray.

At mostly everything he saw, Ryan flinched, and he felt anxious to leave.  It was too familiar from how much time he spent there.  His shoulder was hurting, and he knew he would be sitting in the waiting room for some time before anything was done to treat it.  It wasn't urgent, and he wouldn't need surgery.  The fracture would heal relatively quickly.

When Ryan was in high school, he broke his wrist.  It had been at the beginning of his senior year, and it hadn't been a big thing, similar to the shoulder injury.  He tripped in the hallway, and landed on his wrist, just so it fractured.  It seemed so long ago, and the fracture was so minor, it never hurt him anymore.  In reality, it had only been three years ago.  For Ryan, with everything that happened, it felt way longer than that.  Brendon left him, Brendon was admitted to the hospital, was diagnosed with leukemia, got sick.  They toured.  Recorded an album.  Got signed.  Ryan graduated.  Him and Brendon started dating.  The band officially formed with Brendon as the singer.  He met Brendon.

It felt so long ago, due to the fact he felt like he had been with Brendon forever.

Looking back at the last three years, mostly everything in his life revolved around Brendon being there.  All of it was collapsing on him.  Now he had to face it, he thought, with a broken shoulder. Almost laughable.  Brendon might not even take him back, no matter what Ryan told him, no matter how hard he tried.  Brendon had made it clear that they wouldn't be seeing each other again, but Ryan was compelled to go against that.

The elevator door opened, snapping Ryan out of his thoughts of Brendon and back to the throbbing in his shoulder.  Ryan struggled to remember the directions to the office where his x-ray would take place.  With a few wrong turns, Ryan found the correct room number, and fumbled to open the door with only one functioning arm.

It contrast to the quiet stillness of the waiting room, the door creaked loudly.  Any sound in the waiting room seemed muffled; the TV has the volume low, and there were only two people sitting there.

Ryan's stomach flipped.

His view from behind held him the image of a middle aged woman, who was standing beside a boy in a wheelchair.  She had a hand on his shoulder, covered by the lavender fabric of a hoodie, which brushed the dark tufts of his hair, almost black.  An inch of skin from the back of his neck was exposed, a pale, glowing white, and a vertebra of his spine stuck out sharply.

Someone was calling Ryan, telling him to check in from behind a desk, but Ryan didn't comprehend it at first.  He kept his eyes trained on the boy, but headed over to get himself in for an x-ray.  He numbly heard someone tell him to take a seat, and he did.

Carefully, as if he were waiting for something to jump out and strike him, he rounded a row of chairs and took the seat directly next to the wheelchair.  He stared at his lap, palms sweating with pressure, nervousness.

He could sense it, feel that both figures next to him kept sneaking glances in his direction.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see how the hoodie, which had once been form-fitting, hung off his frame.  His familiar, full lips were parted for intakes of breath, and his cheekbones were sharp.  The sweatpants he wore were a bit tighter than the hoodie, a few sizes smaller, and Ryan shuddered when he recognized them as the pair he’d been looking for before he injured his shoulder.

Of course he would've given them to Brendon.

It didn't make sense for both of them to be silent, ignoring each other.  Ryan had to take the chance, had to talk to him, just to get it out and over with.

Ryan only looked over at Brendon by a fraction of a head turn.  “Hey, beautiful,” Ryan whispered.

Brendon blinked over at him and gulped.  “Hey,” he whispered back, with a sad smile.  He looked back down, and fidgeted in the silence for a bit—Ryan knew Brendon couldn't stand it, either.  He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands, putting one to the side of his face to lean on the arm of his wheelchair.  “What—what are you doing here?” Brendon asked, like it was personal, like Ryan was only there because of him.

“I, uh, I'm pretty sure I broke my shoulder,” Ryan said, nodding at his own words, his own clumsiness.

Brendon's lips twitched upwards a bit, but the smile quickly fell.  “How'd you do that?”

“I fell, and hit the ground pretty hard, I guess.”

“Be careful, baby,” Brendon said, and it was lightly, almost teasing.

Ryan didn't know if Brendon realized the weight it put on Ryan, once again.  He didn't know if Brendon even realized he called him, ‘baby.’  It may have just been out of habit, and that was worse, almost, then if it had been on purpose.  After Brendon's words had sunk in, Ryan asked, “What are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“Totally different type of x-ray,” Brendon said.

“Well, you might have broken ribs,” Grace cut in, looking down at Brendon.

Brendon shrugged.  “Yeah, that would explain why it hurts so much.  But, really, it's to see if I have cancer elsewhere, you know, outside my blood.”

Ryan froze up a bit, filled with concern.  If Brendon condition had become even worse—“What do you mean?”

“They think I've been feeling worse than I should, that I'm in so much pain, that it's likely the actual cancer is worse,” Brendon explained.

“Oh.”

The door to the office opened, and a figure stepped out into the waiting room.  “Mister Urie?” She asked, and Ryan sighed.  There went his time with Brendon, the importance of working things out with him.

Brendon looked to his mother, then to Ryan.  “I know you can't come with us.  You need to get yourself taken care of,” Brendon said, and gnawed at his lip.  “But if you want to come up to my room later, we can talk.”

Ryan nodded, not wanting to come off as too excited.  “I think we should.”

Brendon smiled, distantly, once more, and said, “Alright.  Feel better.”  His voice was soft, genuine, and Ryan wearily smiled back.

Internally, he was fuming.

Brendon couldn't just treat him like that after ending things with him.  Ryan may have broken his shoulder, but that didn't matter after seeing Brendon again.  Brendon was the one who truly broke him.


	16. Chapter 16

Alone with Ryan, Brendon simply look terrified.  Ryan closed the door behind him, Brendon already sitting cross-legged on the bed.

Ryan didn't originally want to be bitter, but he really was towards Brendon.  “You wanted to talk to me now?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, I mean,” Brendon gulped, “if you want to.”

“I did want to talk to you, too, but go ahead,” Ryan said.

Brendon nodded.  “I know you've gotta be mad at me,” he said, “but I'm sorry.  You had to have known that I would be.”

“That doesn't mean anything.”

“It's true.  I shouldn't have—”

“No, you shouldn't have.  You shouldn't have casted me out of your life if you're gonna say you still need me.  You shouldn't have wanted to make things so final.  You should've listened to me and got through whatever emotional problem you were having.  I would've stayed at helped you,” Ryan told him.  He remained calm, his voice steady, but his words held how he felt, how Brendon was right about one thing—he was upset with him.  “We didn't have to go through all this.”

Brendon's jaw clenched, and he looked down.  “You don't have to forgive me.  If you don't ever want to see me again—” he shrugged. “—then I deserve it.  I asked for it once.”  He was blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes.  “I miss you.”

Ryan could feel any roughness he had disappearing.  He knew Brendon didn't really want to break up with him, ever.

Spencer and Jon had been right.  Brendon was crying for him back.

Ryan caved quickly enough.  “I love you,” he said.

Brendon took a breath.

“I can't be without you, not with things ending like that,” Ryan stated.  “I miss you.  You broke my heart.”  Ryan shook his head at the cliche.

“I'm sorry,” Brendon said again.

“Are you taking me back?” Ryan asked, slowly, as if to clarify.

“Of course, angel,” Brendon confirmed, tears welling up.

“Okay, okay.”

“You're too good to me,” Brendon claimed.

Considering, Ryan chuckled a bit.  “Yeah, maybe I am.”

Brendon blushed and started apologizing again.  “I don't deserve you,” Brendon continued.  “I'm lucky you even still care.”

“I only do it because I want to, and that I just love you so much,” Ryan said, unable to remain angry at him for long.  “I care about you a lot.”

“I missed you so much.  You know, everything you've done for me, I’d do for you, a thousand times if I could.”

“Brendon.  You already have.  You don't even realize how much you've changed me.”

“I hurt you,” he said, looking like he didn't believe his own actions.  “I can't forgive myself.”  A tear fell, and then another, and it was making Ryan's insides turn.  He shouldn't have voiced how emotional he was—if it was only going to make Brendon cry.  But that was what helped him get him back, and that was also important.

“It's okay, now.  I've fucked up with you too.”

“Never again,” Brendon promised.  “I have to be here for you.”

Ryan wanted to hug him, crawl in bed next to him again.  It was awkward, as Ryan could only drape an arm around Brendon.  His other was stuck in a strange sling, so he couldn't move his shoulder, leaving his entire arm unable to function.  Fractured bone.  Brendon laughed through his tears; fingertips brushing Ryan's face.  “It's really broken, huh?” Brendon asked.

“Yeah, it is.  It'll heal soon, though,” Ryan said.

“I can't wait,” Brendon said.

With the conversation turned again, Ryan remembered why he had even seen Brendon in the first place—why he was needing x-rays.  “What about you, B?  What's going on with you?”

Brendon sighed, faintly irritated.  “Nothing surprising.”  He cleared his throat, due to his voice cracking all over the place.  “I have two broken ribs, but they're not shattered or anything.”

“How did that happen?” Ryan asked.

Brendon shrugged. “Not sure.  Apparently my bones are softening and fragile, so just coughing probably did it.”

_ He's wilting _ , Ryan thought.  “So, what do you do to heal broken ribs?” He said.

“They said to stay in bed, not move a lot, nothing to jostle me around too much.”  He pursed his lips.  “Not that I can actually do anything, either way.”

Ryan grimaced at the sorrow in Brendon's voice.  “How long did they say it would take to heal?”

“At least six weeks, so . . .”

“Hmm.  Does it—does it hurt?”

“Sometimes,” Brendon said quietly.

“What—what about the—the cancer?” Ryan used the word ‘cancer’ carefully, still feeling weird to say it, apply it to Brendon.

“They took a scan, but we won't know for a couple days.  I'm guessing it's in my bones now, and, uh, probably in my vocal cords.”  He was mournful, looking at his hands.  “Which totally fucking sucks, like, that's basically my whole body at that point.  Um, also, my ribs might be broken from—” He gulped. “—singing.  It's too much movement and strain, so, I can't do that anymore.”

Ryan shook his head in pity.  With his functioning arm, Ryan leaned down to plant a kiss on Brendon's forehead.  “Heal,” Ryan said, softly.

“What?  Did you just bless me?  Am I magically healed?” Brendon joked, darkly taking himself out of the sorrow he had been talking about.

Ryan smiled, just to appease Brendon.  “I think so.”  He rushed to catch Brendon's lips—long awaited.  He rested their foreheads together, and Brendon's hands came up to cup Ryan's neck and cheek.  “I missed you so, so much,” Ryan murmured.

“I missed you, too.  You have no idea how bad I feel.”

“I love you, Brendon.  I love you, I love you.”  He kissed Brendon until the boy smiled, his hands aiding in keeping their lips connected.

“I love you, too,” Brendon said, holding Ryan close and burying his face in his neck.  Ryan squeezed beside Brendon to sit in the bed with him.

“Is this gonna hurt your ribs?” Ryan asked, worried about his body pressing into Brendon's side.

“No words than usual.”

“Good,” Ryan replied, taking it as permission to wrap an arm around Brendon's shoulders.  Ryan closed his eyes, letting out a heavy exhale at how rewarding, how comfortable it was to be able to hold Brendon close to him again.  Brendon laid his head on Ryan's chest, above his sling, and Ryan's heart fluttered, stomach flipped, more than usual—like it was the first time.  Brendon enveloped both his arms around Ryan's waist, humming contently.

“You're warm,” Brendon mumbled, clinging to his body.

Ryan rubbed small circles into Brendon's shoulder, feeling the bony joint.  “Are you cold?”

“A little bit?”  He nuzzled Ryan's chest, eyelashes brushing the fabric of his t-shirt.  “I'm probably just tired.”

“Have you been sleeping okay?”

“No,” Brendon admitted.

“Me neither,” Ryan said.

“I've been in too much pain . . .”

“I've been too worried about you.  I noticed you're not hooked up to the IV right now—is that why you're in pain?”

“I can't be hooked up all day because it's so strong, so I'm just supposed to ride with it for most of the day.  They don't want my kidneys to fail.”

“Yeah, we can't have that.”  It would kill Brendon, Ryan had no doubt.  Ryan protectively pulled Brendon closer at that thought.  Brendon hummed again, warmed at the gesture. 

“I love you,” Brendon said yet again.

“I love you, too,” Ryan said, voice lighter.  It felt so comfortably normal to hear Brendon say it to him, and Ryan could get so lost from reality just by holding Brendon.  Everything, strangely, felt peaceful, felt like just another day of him and Brendon having each other to themselves.  It didn't matter that they were in a hospital room, that they had just gotten back together from a breakup, that Brendon was sick, that Ryan was going to lose him.  It was merely easy to be together.  “Are you gonna fall asleep on me?” Ryan asked, not even serious.

“Probably.”  Brendon shifted, sitting up to look at Ryan.  “Wanna sleep together?” He joked, raising an eyebrow with a suggestive smirk.

Ryan chuckled a bit at the pun, shaking his head.  “I'm pretty tired, Ryan said, but it got him thinking.  Him and Brendon hadn't had sex in months, which was no surprise with how sick Brendon was.  Ryan had managed not to think about it much, not get too overcome with pure want when he was around Brendon.  Neither of them had even brought the topic up until that point.

Brendon was too fragile and weak for them to pursue anything, as it would take too much energy out of him.  He was already in pain, and Ryan didn't want to risk making that worse.  Ryan knew Brendon could see he was thinking too much again.  He smiled meekly in his direction.  Brendon cleared his throat and resettled himself, half laying on Ryan's chest.  “Hey, Ryan?” He whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still even . . . attracted to me?”

Ryan's eyebrows furrowed.  “What do you mean, lover?”

Brendon took a sharp intake of breath.  “I don't know, like . . . I know we can't really do anything anymore, since I'm so sick and all, but I'm—I've lost a lot of weight and I'm really pale, and you've seen me, like, throw up everywhere, so I want to know if you're just totally disgusted by me now, and if you just kinda feel bad for me.”

“B, I'm not disgusted by you, at all.  I admire you.  I just think you're really strong.  And seeing you throw up isn't gross.  Remember that time on tour when you drank too much and threw up in my bunk?  That's gross, not any of this.”

Brendon laughed a bit at the memory.

“I'm still totally attracted to you,” Ryan continued, meeting Brendon's eyes.  “I'll always be, and that's just because you're you.  I'm gonna think you're stunningly gorgeous all the time, since you are.  No matter what.”

“Thank you.  You've been so loyal; I'm really lucky.”

Ryan couldn't believe that Brendon still thought himself lucky after everything—Ryan really didn't think he'd done much for Brendon besides provide him with love and soothing words, touches.  Maybe that made more of an impact than Ryan was aware of.  “Of course I've been loyal.  What, did you think I was going to  _ cheat _ on you?”

“I mean, you could.  It's been months, you could've gone out and found someone else, just to have something.”

Ryan shook his head.  “I could never.  I love you too much, I'd hate myself for it.”

Brendon was silent for a few moments, the only sound was his breathing against Ryan's chest.  “You're definitely too good to me.”

Ryan would do anything for Brendon, but he didn't think it was a lot for him not to stray from him.  He was still too attached to Brendon to even consider anyone or anything else.  The thought made his stomach turn.  Brendon seemed to be the only one who could be the one for him.

But he had Brendon with him, wrapped around him for him to love—he just didn't know how much longer they were going to have before Brendon was taken away from him.


	17. Chapter 17

After Fall Out Boy was scheduled to perform for the VMAs, the boys in the band were to fly to Vegas, in order to visit with Brendon for what may be the last time.  Aside from that, nobody discussed anything with Brendon about the awards.  It was too sensitive of a subject, with his inability to sing and the loss of his general strength.

He was nearly constantly shaking, body unsteady from the pain medication.  He didn't eat much, mainly just nibbling on small snacks throughout the day.  Ryan couldn't push it anymore.  Brendon had long since lost the ability to walk, as it put him in so much pain, and he had just grown too weak to support himself.  His cheekbones were hollow, eyes shadowed by the circles around them.  His hair, grown long from not cutting it in months, was almost black, a stark contrast to his ashen, pale skin.

There were other things about him that had changed from the sickness manifesting his body, but they were really only noticeable to Ryan.  His lips were always dry, skin flaked and cracking.  There were more tiny cuts from razors, since he still insisted on shaving at least every other day, across his jaw and chin—his skin was thin and easy to break.  Ryan was lucky if he could coax out Brendon's usual laugh, no matter what he said.  His natural bright, contagious smile was nothing but a rarity, and his eyes lit up with it even less often.  His eyes—there was a permanent vacant look, not quite glassy, but void of engagement.

On the nights that Ryan managed to cramp them both in Brendon's hospital bed, Brendon continued to cling to him, and it could hardly be considered cuddling, he was simply desperate to touch Ryan while he still could.  Ryan couldn't blame him, as he was the same—clinging to whatever life was left in Brendon, day in and day out.

It had been three months since Brendon's diagnosis; his life expectancy had been filled.  Some abandoned voice of hope in Ryan flickered awake, that maybe—maybe—Brendon would pull through, begin recovering at some point, the leukemia would be the only part of him that died.  Ryan couldn't help but smother that hope whenever he caught a glimpse of Brendon, but he was still kicking.

Brendon wanted to cut his own hair; style it again.  “It's the only part of me that hasn't gone to complete shit,” he told Ryan.  Ryan snuck him some scissors and hair gel, brought him into the bathroom in front of the mirror, and left him to work.

When Ryan saw him again, his hair looked feathery, slightly spiked, a hint of a fringe swooping over his forehead.  It seemed to lighten up his eyes, take a bit of the sickliness away from his features.

Hell, he was still so beautiful, Ryan was taken by surprise at seeing him.

With Ryan's broken shoulder, he couldn't completely lift Brendon up for him to get back in bed.  Brendon groaned, using every ounce of strength he had to stand up from the wheelchair, even with one of Ryan's hands on his back, pushing him up and supporting a portion of his weight.

Trembling, he collapsed on the bed, legs dangling off the end.  His eyes were wide, and he was wheezing.  “Sh, I got you,” Ryan said.  With his unimpaired hand, he picked up Brendon's thin legs, easing them all the way on the bed.  “You're okay,” Ryan said.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”  Ryan sat on the bed himself, reaching out to touch Brendon's new hair.  “It looks really good.”

Brendon managed a hint of a close-lipped smile.

“You're so talented,” he continued.  “And so fucking gorgeous.  I don't know how it's possible for a boy to be this pretty.”

“That's sweet,” Brendon said.  “You're sweet.”  Brendon didn't believe Ryan, Ryan could tell from that response.  “But you're the  _ prettiest _ boy, Ryan.  I don't even compare to you at this point.”  Brendon stared intently—seemingly entranced—into Ryan's eyes, biting his bottom lip.  “I think you're just . . . perfect . . .” He said.  He brought a hand up to hold the back of Ryan's neck, eyes closing as their lips met.  They moved slowly, languidly, Brendon loosely twisting his fingers in the hair at the nape of Ryan's neck.  Their lips parted by only a fraction of an inch, exchanging breaths, before Brendon sucked Ryan's top lip back between his.  Ryan licked Brendon's lip, and Brendon opened his mouth for him.  Brendon sighed breathlessly into Ryan's mouth, making Ryan lean farther into him, Brendon laying back in the bed.  Ryan habitually rested a hand on Brendon's thigh, to which Brendon let out a real, airy moan—

No.

Ryan pulled away, taking his hands off Brendon.  Brendon's eyes fluttered, head tilting forward expectantly for Ryan's lips.  Ryan's head rushed with the reality that he couldn't let things go too far between them, and he felt his heart shatter again.  Brendon looked at him with these big, sad eyes, obviously hurt.  Ryan felt awful he was the one making Brendon be like that. “Hey, lover,” Ryan said, taking Brendon's chin between his fingertips.  He placed a short kiss on Brendon's lips, except this time, Brendon was the one who pulled away.

“Why do you call me that?” Brendon asked.

“Call you what?”

“‘Lover.’ Because we're not lovers, anymore.”

“No, we’re not.”  Ryan couldn't deny that.  “I'm in love with you.  We’re in a pretty committed relationship, I think.  It's not just sex, or some desperate love affair, or just a fling.”

“But . . . we can't sleep together, we can't do anything sexual at all, I guess, and that name is, like, so suggestive.”

“I just think it's fitting, since we try to keep this all out little secret, sometimes.”

Brendon scoffed.  “Sometimes,” he said.

“Well, B, I won't call you my lover anymore if you don't want me to.  I think it's kinda affectionate, but . . .”

Brendon shrugged.  “It's fine.”

Ryan licked his own lips.  “I'll still make out with you whenever you want to.”

Brendon giggled.  Ryan's heart felt lighter at the sound.  “Then get over here, baby,” he said.

Ryan complied, kissing Brendon again and again, eventually crawling under the covers with him, arms around each other.

Ryan was going to miss this.

<<<<<>>>>>

On the night of MTV’s Video Music Awards, Brendon's hospital room was crowded.  The volume of the TV was on high, there was extra food, Brendon was smiling.  Ryan had to admit that was what he was most concerned with.  Over the past few days, there had been little to no smiles, with Brendon's pain escalating to high levels again.  He was pushing through it with everyone else being there, though.

They all celebrated that their video was simply nominated, that it was recognized by so many people.  Their video had been low budget, as had the whole album the song was a part of.  Brendon had been much more proud of it than Ryan had, which seemed to cause fights until it grew more popular than anyone had expected.  And that just brought Ryan and Brendon closer.

Brendon really was everything to Ryan.

Ryan's fingers remained laced with Brendon's for the majority of the night.  A couple nurses stood in the hospital room to watch portions of the awards, and the amount of people was what was keeping Brendon from being upset and disappointed.  Ryan knew he wanted to be at the awards, all dressed up and ready to perform.

Ryan was being too pessimistic, according to Brendon, when he wasn't filled with anticipation as the award was about to be announced.  He was certain that they weren't going to win, and he felt haunted by the short clip of  _ I Write Sins, Not Tragedies _ that was played on screen.  Brendon had been so alive, so healthy . . .

Pressing a kiss to Brendon's hairline, Ryan heard the suspense of silence before the award was announced.  Ryan rested his temple to Brendon's, paying more attention to him than to the TV, while everyone else was intent on it.

Yet Ryan's head snapped up, answering like it was his name, when he heard the host say, “Panic! At The Disco’s  _ I Write Sins Not Tragedies _ !”

“Holy shit,” Brendon breathed, grip on Ryan's hand tightening.  He looked at Ryan with wide eyes.

“We won,” Spencer said.

Ryan's face broke into a smile.

“That's our video, what the fuck,” Brendon said.  “I didn't think we would actually win . . .”

“We won, and Ryan really doubted us,” Spencer shot to him, but there was no bite behind it.

“Yeah, sorry.”  He looked down at Brendon, beaming.  “I don't know why I would've doubted it.  If anyone could win with a video like that, it's Brendon.”

“Our fans just think he's hot,” Jon said.

“And can we blame them?” Ryan retaliated.

Brendon attempted to bite back his laughter, but failed.  The sound of it was familiar, but new again, and certainly contagious.  What Ryan wouldn't give to see Brendon that happy all the time . . .

They all fell silent to watch Fall Out Boy’s performance of  _ Dance, Dance _ .  During the song, Pete and Patrick leaned in, noses almost touching, the same way Ryan and Brendon would have if they had been the ones performing.  It was such a signature thing for Panic!, Ryan knew it was for them.  Brendon nosed at Ryan's cheek, getting his attention, and Ryan looked at him to be met with a kiss.  “You know what, Ryan?”

“Hmm?”

“I feel kinda lucky to be here instead of out there.”

Ryan's eyebrows furrowed.  “You do?  Why?”

“Yeah, yeah, it's just . . .” He trailed off and shrugged, reaching for Ryan's hand.

Ryan didn't respond to that.  Someone passed them paper plates with chips and some dip, but Ryan wasn't paying attention to it.  He could only think about what Brendon said.  He took a moment to figure it out.

Brendon had started to feel that in his situation, it was good enough to simply be with Ryan, and Ryan didn't know whether to feel honored or despaired about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably going to get wrapped up at around 21 chapters . . . but maybe not.


	18. Chapter 18

“Ryan, my ribs hurt,” Brendon groaned.  It was late in the morning, and Brendon still hadn’t summoned the strength to get in his wheelchair, go wash his hair, and shave with Ryan hoping he didn’t need help.  He remained curled up, all while Ryan was getting ready.  Ryan knew Brendon was going to try and make himself look presentable that day, due to the guys from Fall Out Boy coming to visit.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said.  Brendon opened his mouth like he was going to say something more, but he started coughing with the intake of breath.  He let out a whine, clutching his ribcage.  “Brendon, my love, don’t try to talk, I know that hurts.”

“Ryan . . .”

Ryan stopped what he was doing to sit in a chair beside Brendon’s bed, reaching out to stroke Brendon’s hair.  He carded his fingers through the softness, massaging his scalp.  “Feel that?” Ryan asked.  “Your hair’s really soft.  Does that feel nice?” He trailed his fingers down Brendon’s neck, then went back to his hair.  “I love you.”

He was trying to distract Brendon from the pain, even if it was only for a short amount of time.  From what he could see, it was working.  The pained look on his face relaxed, eyes closed to block out the light.  He began to take a breath to say, “I love you, too,” but Ryan stopped him.

“Sh, sh, pay attention to this,” Ryan said, playing with Brendon’s hair again.  “Are you warm enough?  Let me make you warm . . .” He continued the soothing words, making sure Brendon had something constant in his mind that wasn’t pain.  He’d learned that it was effective, with as many times as Brendon had said Ryan was his favorite form of comfort.

They helped each other, now, with Brendon being in various states of pain, and Ryan’s shoulder being broken.  Brendon often times was there to help Ryan dress and undress, Ryan was there to help Brendon shower - he only felt comfortable with Ryan doing so.  They could put each other to sleep, when Ryan was too worried to do it, and Brendon was in, of course, pain.

With his fingers in Brendon’s hair, he hoped he wasn’t putting Brendon to sleep at the moment.  Ryan would prefer it if Brendon were awake when everyone arrived.  Yet he stayed at Brendon’s side until his afternoon dose of pain medication arrived to ease his pain instead.  He regained the ability to take deep breaths as it began setting in, as he could only breathe shallowly with his ribs bothering him.  By that point, the pain had exhausted him, but he held his eyes open for Ryan’s sake.

Brendon’s irritation was present, Ryan could tell, from the way he was quiet and snippy.  Ryan tried his best not to react to it, and went to the cafeteria to buy him a snack and some tea, with hopes to perk him up.  On his way back up to the room, he received a text from Pete, saying they just showed up.  Ryan turned around to head downstairs, finding the four of them standing in the waiting room.  It was unusual, but they all gave him a hug for support.  While they walked, Ryan told them, “He’s tired right now, but he’ll probably be nice to you guys.”

Patrick smiled at him, seeming a bit nervous.  Ryan couldn’t blame him.

“Ryan,” Pete said, sounding too serious for himself, “I know you don’t want anyone visiting here besides family and friends, and that’s fine, but if you’re not going to let anyone else in, then I need to talk to you guys about press and what you want to do with the band.”

Ryan bit the inside of his cheek, and stopped walking.

Pete’s tone softened to say, “I know it’s probably the last thing you two want to think about right now, I’m sorry.”

“We do need to talk about it.  We need to call Spence and Jon, though.  I’m not going to end the band without at least telling them.”

“You - you’re going to end the band?  Ryan, you don’t have to do that, I’m talking about short term plans right now -”

“It’s not going to be my band without Brendon,” Ryan claimed.

Pete looked shocked at Ryan’s words.  “But, hell, what if he gets better?  Then you just won’t have a band at all.”

“The cancer spread.  It’s in his vocal chords and probably attacking his organs as we speak.”

Somehow, Pete still had an optimism, even through Ryan’s bitterness.  “What if they treat it?  You know it’s been three months, and they said he would be gone by now, so there’s a chance they’re wrong about him never getting better.  He’s still alive.”

“Barely,” Ryan sneered.

“It might be hard to see right now -”

“You don’t know how bad it is.”

“Maybe you think it’s worse than it is.”

Ryan had enough.  “I don’t need all this fucking  _ hope _ and bright outlooks.  I don’t want to be in that mindset anymore when he might not even wake up tomorrow morning.  I might walk in there right now and his heart might have stopped.”

Instantly, Ryan recoiled at his own words, regretting that he let them spill from his mouth like that.  He couldn’t be so cruel and blunt about Brendon - Brendon, who he loved more than anything, who he would gladly trade places with just so someone that perfect would continue to brighten the world.  Ryan felt like collapsing, as he knew his statement to be true, and could imagine it.

The whole thing didn’t seem so unrealistic and unimaginable anymore.

“We’re going to see what he says,” Pete said.  “I want his opinion.  And if it’s the same as yours, then so be it.”

Ryan didn’t say a word the rest of the way to Brendon’s room.  He opened the hospital door with the intention of entering last, until he heard the shakiness in Brendon’s voice - “Ryan?”

“B?” Ryan quickly stepped in the room to see Brendon looking at him with watery eyes and a quivering lower lip.  “Whoa, hey, what is it?  What happened?”

Brendon's voice dropped to a whisper as he anxiously eyed everyone in the doorway.  “I . . . I threw up again, and . . .” Ryan peered into the tray on the nightstand for everything time Brendon got sick, and Ryan's own stomach turned.  “. . . And there's so much blood, I don't know  _ why _ —”

Ryan closed his eyes to prevent his own nausea from getting the best of him.  The majority of the vomit appeared to be red; bloody, in comparison to the light, watery substance he usually choked up.  He'd never seen anything like it, and the amount of blood spurred him into some franticness - he had to find out what was wrong, immediately, so he could give Brendon the comfort of at least knowing what was happening to him.  He took the tray and placed it in the bathroom sink, hearing Brendon’s voice again, except it was purposely steady.  “Hey, guys, how are you?”  Ryan could hear the forced smile.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Brendon, giving him a kiss on the forehead.

Everyone watched him walk out of the room, closing the door behind him.  He let out an exhale, clearly distressed, before picking up his phone.

Brendon would have killed him if he heard him talking; he dropped politeness while he demanded to speak with a doctor, someone who would be able to give him some answers.  They let him through after a lot of fighting about whether or not he needed to make an appointment.  It felt almost rehearsed as he explained what was going on.  He’s late stage leukemia.  He’s staying in the hospital.  He’s puking copious amounts of blood.  What are we supposed to do about it?

Only to find out that the professionals weren’t sure, either.

Keep him nourished and hydrated.  Gatorade is recommended to replace some of the electrolytes and vitamins he lost with the blood.

Ryan was frustrated.  He wanted to know why it was happening.

They said they would make an appointment for Brendon, sometime during the next day, in which they could discuss options and whatnot.

Ryan returned to Brendon, and Brendon looked at him, expecting answers.  Ryan shrugged, unable to give any.  “They said keep eating, that you need it, and then they told me to get you a power drink or something, so do you want me to do that?”

“If it’ll help,” Brendon replied, opening a bag of chips.

Without hesitation, Ryan left the room again to retrieve more supplies, as he always did for Brendon.  It was no wonder he was so tired - he had been doing that for over three months now.  Not that he would ever refuse, when it came to Brendon.

When Ryan returned to the room for the third time that day, handing Brendon the drink, Pete became serious to bring up the band, but Brendon didn’t let it make him too emotional.  He was in pain, and he was trying to act like he wasn’t, so he forced himself to come off as cheerful no matter what.

Pete asked Brendon what he wished for the band for the next couple months or so, and Brendon shrugged,  “I can’t perform or sing or do anything to fulfill by place in the band, so I don’t think this should really be my decision at all,” he said, though he finished it with a smile.

“And have you thought about anything long-term?” Pete asked.

Brendon raised his eyebrows at Pete.  “Are you really asking me that?”

Ryan stepped in.  “You’ve been a member of this band, B, with the ability to make decisions as equally as anyone, and that hasn’t changed.  Is there anything you want us to do while you’re not . . . necessarily able to?”

“Keep making music, Ryan.  It would be a waste if you didn’t.  But do whatever makes you happy.”

“Ryan had mentioned ending the band,” Pete said.

Brendon shrugged again.  “That’s fine.  I mean, that’s gonna be a bigger deal when it’s announced than you’ll make out of it.  Without me, you’d have to hire a new singer, and I don’t want it to feel like . . . you’re just patching holes together, you know?”

“So, you’d be okay with that?  Because, Brendon, it’s not going to be the same band without you, but if there’s something else you want specifically for Panic! . . .”

“Nope.”

“Is there any way you would want us to announce the break up?”

“No.”

“I still have to talk to Spencer and Jon about all of this, so nothing is for sure yet.”

“You can tell the public I’m sick, whenever you announce it.”

Brendon didn’t seem to really care, but Ryan felt like it was more important, that it was something to get emotional over.  “Are you sure you want me to go through with this?” Ryan asked.

“I think it’s for the best,” Brendon nodded.  “As much as we joke about being in the band being like a marriage, I don’t think Panic! At the Disco is . . . something we would commit to for the rest of our lives, even if I wasn’t sick.”

“You’re right,” Pete said.

“Like, do you guys imagine being in Fall Out Boy forever?  Or do you think it’ll all end one day?” Brendon asked.

“Being in an emo rock band for the rest of my days, I don’t know,” Andy said.  Everyone chuckled at that.

“I can’t imagine having to see Pete Wentz everyday for the rest of my life,” Patrick joked, and Pete glared at him exaggeratedly.  The mood lightened in the room, at least to Ryan, anyway.

“You can’t imagine seeing  _ anyone _ everyday for the rest of your life,” Pete said back to Patrick.

“I just have no interest in getting married,” Patrick said.

Pete, Andy, and Joe all nodded in agreement, that they too, were never planning on getting married.  “We don't know love around here,” Pete claimed, but it was with a dark smile.

“I would've married you,” Brendon stated, looking up at Ryan.

Ryan froze up a little bit, his insides plummeting to the floor.  “You—you would've  _ what _ ?”

“I would've married you,” Brendon repeated.  “I would marry you right now, but I can't leave the hospital, and we can't legally get married in this state.  Besides, I already know you're going to be with me for the rest of my life, so I don't really need a piece of paper to tell me that, but I would have asked you, Ryan, one day.  I knew you were, like, the one I wanted to be with forever.”

Ryan felt his eyes burning, throat closing up, and this was ridiculous, he told himself.  He didn't need to cry every time Brendon said something sweet to him.

But Brendon had just confessed to wanting to be with him until they were old, that he would've wanted to be by Ryan's side through everything that ever happened to him.  All Ryan could feel was the dread that Brendon's words were never going to be a reality, as Ryan himself felt that he would never wake up with someone in his bed and a wedding ring on his finger.  That place in Ryan's life felt distant from where he was, but if he wanted to think about it, the only thing he could see was Brendon being that person he woke up to every morning, that his ring would match with Brendon's.

His heart twisted painfully.  It was what they both wanted most, but both knew they couldn't ever have, at the same time.

He leaned down to press a kiss to Brendon's lips.  “We don't need marriage for anything, sweetheart,” he said, watching Brendon's smile flicker and fall.

“I wouldn't have said anything if I knew you would've rejected me, shit.”

Everyone else stared at them awkwardly.  Ryan shook his head.  “That's not what I meant.  I would've married you, Brendon.  I would have.”

“Don't be insensitive, Ryan,” Pete said.

“He's not being insensitive,” Brendon defended.  “I think he's trying to comfort both of us, actually.  But, really, Ryan, wouldn't you have wanted that?”

“I wanted everything for us, my love.  I wanted a long, happy life with you, of just being with you.  And I still do, I really still do.”

“Baby,” Brendon said, “we’ll talk about this later.”

And they did.  ‘Later,’ was when Ryan and Brendon were alone in the room again, at night, after Brendon had thrown up more blood.  Ryan tentatively sat on the edge of the hospital bed.  Ryan looked at Brendon until he started talking.  “I love you.  I know you weren't shutting me down.”

“Do you really mean it?  You really would've done that?  I don't know, B, I feel like that's kind of a big thing to say, especially for me.”

“Of course I mean that.  I want all of it with you.  But . . .”

“I'm gonna stay with you forever.  I'm gonna love you forever.  Really, we don't need to think about the idea of marriage, but it's nice to think about.  It's just,” Ryan bit the inside of his cheek, “I don't know.”

Brendon closed his eyes.  “I know, it got me thinking, too.”

“I don't know what I'm going to do without you,” Ryan confessed.

Brendon huffed.  “You can start some new project to distract yourself, I mean, keep yourself busy.  It'll be nice to not be stuck here everyday.”

“Without you, though . . .”

“You're gonna be fine, angel, better, even.”

Ryan shook his head, looking down and knotting his fingers with Brendon's.  He couldn't bring himself to look at the boy.

“I know this is hard for you, and I don't help you enough with this—you're always busy taking care of me—but, love, I know you're going to get through this, even if I'm not.”

Ryan didn't want to hear those words.  Some part of him was desperate for any last hope that  _ Brendon  _ was going to be okay.  That was what he really needed.  Not reassurance that he'd be able to deal with life after Brendon was gone.

“Ryan, love,” Brendon said again, “you're still young.  You've got a lot to do in your life, you have a lot of time to be able to move on from all of this.  You're not going to suddenly be an old man when I'm gone.”  Something about the teasing sense in those words made Ryan look up and meet Brendon's eyes.  He was surprised to find that they were welled with tears.

“I know,” he said.

“I hope you find happiness if I'm not there to provide it to you.  I think—I think you're amazing, and anyone would be extremely lucky to be able to call you theirs.  I hope you'll have someone else to support you, someone perfect, that you can love them and be happy enough to marry them—” Brendon's voice cracked with the unmistakable sound of crying.  “I just . . . Oh, Ryan,” he whimpered.

“That's really sweet, Brendon, I appreciate it, but don't force anything.”

“I don't want that,” Brendon snapped.  “Not really.  I want you to be happy, don't get me wrong, but I want to be the one to do it.  I don't want to picture you happy with someone else.  And I know that's horribly selfish of me and not supportive of you at all right now, but I love you too much, I had too many dreams for us, and we were going to have it, baby, we were already almost there,” Brendon rambled, hopelessly trying to prevent his voice from cracking.

Ryan took Brendon's hands and nuzzled his own face into them, placing kisses on his knuckles.  “I'm never going to be as happy with anyone else as I am with you.  You've made me fall so in love, I can't imagine not being dedicated to you.  You're everything to me.”

“I'm so lucky to have you,” Brendon said.  “I couldn't ask for a better boyfriend.  But I love you and I respect you.  I know I can't be with you for the rest of your days.  This is why I wanted to break up with you, so you're not tortured by all of this.  I want you to be able to move on.”

“I can only see my future being with you.”

“Don't fall in love so fast with someone else.  That's not what I'm asking you to do.  Just don't spend your whole life thinking about and missing me.”

“I'll try, B, I'll try.”

There was genuine truth behind Ryan's words, but he was trying to live in the moment, with his fingers locked with Brendon's, faces inches apart.  He wasn't going to leave him just yet.


	19. Chapter 19

Blood dripped from Brendon's nose, crusted on his lips from where he threw up.  The new nosebleed wasn't helping his pain and fear.  As always, Ryan attempted to tell him he was okay.  Brendon was tired, beginning to fade into sleep before his nosebleed even stopped.  Ryan let him, peacefully, although the results from several medical tests were supposed to be coming into them.

Brendon said he didn’t really care anymore.  It didn’t matter to him unless it was going to help his pain levels.  Lately, the boy had been tired, but he complained about various pains, too intense for sleep to find him, so if it was at bay enough for him to rest, Ryan wouldn’t hesitate to allow him as much sleep as he needed.

Ryan sat on his cot across from Brendon’s bed.  He looked calm, which soothed Ryan’s own heart.  Last time he’d fallen asleep, he woke up a few hours later, crying as he choked that his chest hurt.  The occurrence of similar pains was common for him now - whatever pain medication he was on wasn’t enough to overpower the pain.

Ryan was waiting for his phone to ring or for a knock on Brendon’s door, so he wasn’t surprised when the familiar face of a woman appeared in the doorway.  Ryan pressed a finger to his lips, glancing nervously at Brendon’s sleeping form.  He didn’t stir.  There was a sense of dread that came to Ryan whenever he saw Brendon’s doctor, but that wasn’t her fault - she had been the one to give them Brendon’s diagnosis, she had been the one to order every stronger dose of pain medication, she had been the one to ease Brendon into staying in the hospital instead of at home.  She was always gentle enough, but Ryan hated seeing her.

She gestured for Ryan to go out in the hallway with her, with a sympathetic smile on her face.  He knew this couldn’t be good.

“Hi, Mister Ross, we meet again,” she said.

Ryan could only nod.

“You look tired.  You should probably go home and get some rest.”

Ryan shrugged.  “I’m worried about him.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“So, what else is wrong with him?”

“Aside from broken ribs and side effects . . . I - I have to be honest with you, Mister Ross.  His organs are failing him.”

“Okay,” Ryan said, looking at her with the same franticness as the first time they met, “what does that mean for us?”

She placed a hand on his shoulder.  “His entire body is shutting down.  The only way to even possibly slow down the process is a surgical transplant -”

“When can we get him in?” Ryan rushed.

She sighed and shook her head.  “What you have to understand is that it’s not an option for him anymore.”

“Why not?”

“They’d put him under, but he’s too weak.  He wouldn’t be able to wake up from it.”

Ryan rubbed his knuckles over his cheek.  “Then what’re we supposed to do?”

“Mister Ross -” she slowly said, sending a chill up his spine at how distant she sounded.  “- believe me when I say that this is the hardest part of my entire job.  I hate to have to tell you this, but he’s only got a week to live, and that’s if you’re lucky.  It’s time to let go.”

Ryan felt the air leave his body.  Less than a week . . . Tears pricked up in his eyes, his cheeks going red.  His whole body was shaking with fury and utter helplessness.  “What do you mean, ‘let go?’” He cried.

She looked pained, which made Ryan bitter - as if she had any idea what he was going through.  “Start planning on what you want to do after he’s passed.  Be ready.”

“Is he going to be in a lot of pain?”

“We’re going to start a steady morphine drip to make sure it’s as painless as possible for him.  And for you, everyone here on the team at the hospital is here for you, if you need anything, or if you just need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.  I’m going to be around this area of the hospital today, so I’ll keep checking on you two, and when he’s fit to talk, we’ll discuss this again.”

Ryan nodded.

She patted his shoulder.  “Hang in there.”

<<<<<>>>>>

Brendon hadn’t cried when they told him the prognosis, and Ryan managed not to, either.  He didn’t say a word as he held out his arm for the morphine.  They said it was most likely going to make him feel “loopy” and possibly euphoric.  To that, Brendon had even cracked a smile and joked, “Hit me up - this is the shit we  _ don’t  _ get on tour,” and a couple hours  later, “If I die, Ryan, sell my leftover supply.  You’ll make the big bucks.”

It wasn’t until night time that his tough shell cracked and his tears fell.  Ryan found himself in bed with him, cradling his torso, softly whispering a, “Sh, sh, sh,” into his ear, while Brendon sobbed into his chest, clutching fistfulls of his shirt.  “I know, sweetheart, I know,” Ryan said, gently running his fingers up and down his arm.

The same thing happened the next two nights; Brendon still didn’t say anything about it.  Grace walked into the room to see them like that at one point, and Ryan looked to see her torn, between going to help comfort her son, or to leave it to Ryan.  Brendon’s was hiding his face, buried in Ryan’s arms.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Brendon muttered, just loud enough for Grace to hear.  Ryan massaged Brendon’s back, looking at Grace’s heart breaking in front of him.

“It’s okay, baby.  It’s all okay,” she said, and bowed out of the room.

And then Brendon’s cries stopped.  “Why am I still alive?” He asked, but Ryan couldn’t provide him an answer.  “I’m so tired of all this, Ryan.  I - fuck, I shouldn’t be telling you all of this.  You don’t need it.”

“You can tell me anything,” Ryan whispered, afraid to raise his voice at all.  As if it would break Brendon.

“I’m not really sad anymore,” Brendon said.  “I’m not sad.  I’m ready.  I know they told you to let go, but they didn’t tell that to me.  It doesn’t matter, though.  I’m ready to let go, now.  That’s not going to make me cry, anymore.  I’m more worried about you.  I know you’re not ready to say goodbye, but you have to.”

Ryan didn't protest.  He didn't know how much of that was the heavy doses of morphine or actually Brendon's sincere thoughts.

“You can cry here, if you want to,” Brendon said.  “But I'm not sad.  And if I'm not sad about this anymore, then you're not allowed to be, either, right?”

“Right,” Ryan said, flatly, even though his thought was,  _ Oh, baby boy, that's never been how this works _ .  “I don't need to cry.  I need to make sure you're comfortable, okay?” He tried to keep his tone even, not let it waver in the slightest.

“Okay,” Brendon answered.

With Brendon calmed, Ryan kissed him briefly and left the room to get himself his first meal of the day, at three in the afternoon.  It turned out to be the only thing he ate all day, because when he returned to the room, there were nine people standing in Brendon's room, ten if he counted Brendon in bed and eleven if he counted himself—Brendon's mother, father, Spencer, Jon, Zack, Patrick, Pete, Joe, and Andy.  Brendon was drowsy and out of it, face still stained with tears from before he stopped crying, and he seemed overwhelmed with the number of people there without Ryan by his side.

Ryan glowered slightly at everyone, protectively making his way to Brendon again, who at him with relief.  “What's going on?” Ryan asked Brendon, personally.

“They're talking about press and interviews and a breakup letter for the band, or something like that,” Brendon said.

Ryan sighed.  Brendon didn't need the stress—he wasn't fit to handle it.  Stress would only . . . accelerate things for him.  Because Brendon was listening to him, Ryan wasn't cold when he told Spencer, Jon, Zack, and Pete to take their business elsewhere, that neither him nor Brendon were willing to discuss it.  Brendon had taken Ryan's hand and rested his cheek on it, falling asleep right there.  Patrick, Joe, and Andy took that as their cue to leave, as well.  As for Brendon's parents, Ryan couldn't make them leave, not that he even tried to.

Grace and Boyd both fretted over Ryan, saying that he himself was beginning to look sickly.  When Ryan brushed it off, they moved on in their conversation to tell him how they cried when they found out that Brendon had only a week to live, told him exactly how they felt, how sad they were.  It was pointless to say; Ryan already knew all too well the pain they were feeling.

Ryan nudged Brendon awake before they left that night so they could say goodnight, which was something they needed from their son.

Ryan didn't tell Brendon that they talked to him about the option of holding his funeral in the Mormon church.  Brendon wouldn't want that, but Ryan hadn't had the heart to tell his parent as such, either.  He would deal with it when he had to.

“I hate seeing you be so sad all the time,” Brendon said.

Instead of pulling him close, burying his face in his neck, and confessing his true feelings, Ryan smiled and lied, “I'm not.”

“You look tired,” Brendon said, and there were tears brimming in his eyes again.  “Come here, love, I want to hold you.”

Brendon got his wish, stroking Ryan's hair and laying with him, their limbs tangled together.  Brendon's touch was comforting, Ryan had to admit, relaxing him more than necessary.  He was more at ease, felt more grounded.  It was just Brendon.  Just Brendon, who’d always be there for him, would take care of him through everything, had Ryan been in his place.

“What's on your mind?” Brendon asked, brushing through Ryan's bangs.

“Are you afraid?” Ryan whispered.

“Not really,” Brendon whispered back.  “You already know, I'm more worried about you than anything else.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault, I just . . . I can't picture you doing anything other than Panic!.”

“I can't picture that band without you, so . . . I can go back to school, get my degree, figure out something to do with my time.”  Even while Ryan was saying it, he knew Brendon wasn't pleased with his answer.

“That seems like a waste of your talent.”

“What talent?” Ryan said back.

Brendon huffed on an incredulous laugh.  “All your musical talent.”

“Mm, I don't know about that.”

“Oh, come on, you're talented.  I hope you keep writing.”

“And who's gonna sing it?”

“Well,  _ you _ , obviously.”

Ryan scoffed.

“I love it when you sing,” Brendon said.

“I'm not confident enough, and not nearly as good as you.”

“I was okay.”

Ryan fell silent, feeling Brendon's fingers card through his hair.

“Will you sing me back to sleep?  Just this once?” Brendon asked, and nestled his face between Ryan's neck and shoulder.

“Yeah, I don't know, let me think of something,” Ryan indulged, after a second of hesitation.  He cleared his throat, Brendon's hands brushing down his neck like streams of water.

“ _ Love of my life, you've hurt me _ ,” Ryan began, “ _ You've broken my heart, and now you leave me.” _  He didn't feel okay with the sound of his own voice, but Brendon was smiling into his skin, so it was worth it.  “ _ Love of my life, can't you see?  Bring it back, bring it back, don't take it away from me, because you don't know what it means to me  _ . . .”  Ryan paid more attention to the boy in his arms, the lyrics, than his own singing.

“ _ Love of my life, don't leave me _

_ You've taken my love _

_ And now desert me _

_ Love of my life, can't you see? _

_ Bring it back, bring it back _

_ Don't take it away from me _

_ Because you don't know _

_ What it means to me _

_ You will remember _

_ When this is blown over _

_ And everything’s all by the way _

_ When I grow older _

_ I will be there at your side _

_ To remind you how I still love you _

_ I still love you _

_ Hurry back, hurry back _

_ Please, bring it back home to me _

_ Because you don't know _

_ What it means to me _

_ Love of my life _

_ Love of my life . . .” _

Ryan looked down, and Brendon was asleep, or most of the way there, breathing down Ryan's collarbone.  Ryan remembered Brendon belting out the lyrics to that song in the shower—it was one of his favorites by Queen.  Before falling asleep himself, Ryan kissed the top of Brendon's head, and let out the single sob for Brendon, the love he was going to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brendon covered Love of My Life by Queen on Periscope once and I never forgot, and it reminded me of this fic so much for some reason that I had to write it in.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab the tissues.

On day five of the week Brendon apparently had left to live, Ryan went home.  He was horribly tired—due to the events of the night.  He had peacefully sang until Brendon was asleep, peacefully cried himself to sleep, only for Brendon to be shaking him awake no more than twenty minutes later—begging him to get out of bed, give him his tray, where he puked more blood.  It made him light-headed, and some nurses rushed in to get him water, more liquids going through his IV.  Or something.  Ryan wasn't entirely sure.

Exhausted, high on morphine, and losing blood, Brendon told Ryan to go home and sleep.  He was somehow still concerned with Ryan, even though he was the one dying, physically.  Ryan didn't listen, not at first, far too worried about Brendon's state of health.  Brendon drifted in and out of sleep until sunrise, keeping Ryan awake the whole time.

“Hey, baby,” Brendon said, “I'm okay.  Really.  I've felt worse.”

“I'm still worried,” Ryan said, sitting across the room.  He didn't dare touch Brendon.  He was far too fragile and easily pained.

“You're always going to be, Ryan.  It's gonna be okay.  You don't have anything extra to worry about.”

Ryan grimaced.  Brendon should've been worried about himself, not Ryan.  “You're throwing up blood,” Ryan stated.

“Yeah.”

“I'm worried about that.  You're losing blood, like, a lot.  And you have leukemia, so your blood isn't going to just produce normally.  This is bad,” Ryan said.

“I'm gonna die, anyway,” Brendon said, but it was with a lazy smile.  “You should just accept this, baby.”

Ryan cringed at the pet name.  It seemed misplaced, misused.

At eight in the morning, when both of Brendon's parents arrived, Brendon was already trying to convince Ryan to go home and get some sleep.  Brendon seemed dreamy and definitely drugged up.

“Oh, Ryan, dear, you look  _ awful _ ,” Grace said.

Ryan didn't speak, simply nodded towards Brendon.

“I'm worried about him,” Brendon said.  “He's not sleeping enough, he stresses too much, he's going to make himself sick, and we don't need that.  We can't make it two of us.  Isn't that right, love?”

“I'm not sick,” Ryan grumbled.

“See? He's irritated, too.  He needs some quiet, alone time,” Brendon said.

“You should really listen to him, Ryan,” Boyd said.

“He knows what's best for you,” Grace said.

Ryan looked at Brendon, who was looking at him like he was visibly wounded.  “I don't want to leave you right now, if you need me for anything—”

“I'll be taken care of.”

“I know,” Ryan said, defeated.

“I'm still gonna be here when you come back,” Brendon said.

Ryan debated with himself for a few seconds, internally agreeing with Brendon.  He would feel better when he slept for a bit, he decided, and he would be able to comfort Brendon more.  Maybe he’d even have a better outlook on everything after some time away from the hospital.

“I'll bring you back some dinner tonight, if you can think of anything.”

Brendon nodded.  “You've really been too good to me.  I'll have whatever you want.  I'm sure you're craving something.”

Brendon was too good to  _ him _ , Ryan thought.  “I'll figure it out.  Text me if you think of something you want.”

Ryan caught Brendon's eyes, and they were glassy, but lighter than Ryan had seen them in a long time.  “I'm lucky you love me so much,” Brendon said, and it made Ryan's stomach flip again.

“I do.”

“I love you, too,” Brendon said.

“I'll see you soon,” Ryan told him.

Brendon reached for him, aiming a kiss to Ryan's lips.  “You know you're everything to me,” Brendon murmured in Ryan's ear.

Ryan nodded against Brendon's check, and kissed high on his jaw.

<<<<<>>>>>

Uncomfortable and pacing through the living room of his and Brendon's house, Ryan was conflicted.  He should've stayed with Brendon, but he should also be sleeping.  He didn't see how he could, though, with how purely worried he was for Brendon.

Ryan didn't have much of a doubt that Brendon would be okay when he returned—that wasn't what he was worried about.  He was worried that Brendon would want him to be there at some point during the day, for support, for someone's hand to hold when he was in pain.  Brendon was tough—he’d fight through it for a long time before calling for Ryan to come back.  Ryan didn't want that for him, he wanted Brendon to be soothed at every moment.

He sat on the couch, lacing and unlacing his fingers, then stood up to pace again.  He was restless.  Something was off.  Something deeper than worry.  Maybe it was sleep deprivation—again, he had yet to try falling asleep—but it felt nothing like the other days Ryan had gone without sleeping.  He considered for a moment that he may be cracking, driven to mental instability from everything that happened, because he felt tired of everything.  Sleep wouldn't provide him the rest he needed, or a break from anything.  What he wanted was for everything to stop, to go back to the way things were before Brendon got sick.  That wasn't possible, and it never would be.

Weighing his options, Ryan could go back to the hospital.  He would probably feel a lot more calm just by being around Brendon.  But if he went back, all that would do was cause Brendon to be more worried about Ryan instead of himself.  He hated to be the cause of that.  On top of which, Ryan felt guilty.  The boy he was in love with was puking blood and Ryan had just  _ left _ ?  However, that was somewhat of a normal occurrence now, Ryan shouldn't feel too bad.  Ryan still wished he could protect him.

His phone rang.

He sat down to answer.

He expected it to be Brendon on the other end, asking him to pick up something when he came back.  However, his, “Hey,” was immediately obliterated with a, “Mister Ross?”

Ryan's breath left his body.  “Yes?”

“We find it necessary to inform you that you're being requested here in regards of patient Brendon Urie.”

“Okay . . . uh, I'll be right there.”

“It's urgent.”

Ryan felt like his insides were coated with ice.  “What's going on?” He asked, walking out the door.  How things could change with Brendon so fast . . .

“We would prefer if you would come to the hospital, where we can share extensive information with you.”

“Can you give me any details now?” Ryan asked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“As soon as you arrive we can go over everything with you.”

“What happened?” Ryan demanded.

No answer.

“What's wrong with Brendon?  What happened to my Brendon?” Perhaps he was over-reacting, he thought faintly, but it was overcome with frantic was.  He needed to know, had to prepare himself for what state Brendon would be in.

“Mister Ross, I can not disclose this information with you at this time.”

“Okay, fine, I'm on my way, I'm almost there,” Ryan snapped.

He hung up, striding through the automatic doors into the hospital before he knew it.  Unable to wait or stand still, he ran up flights upon flights of stairs, out of breath before he got to Brendon's floor.  What could have happened to Brendon, there were too many possibilities.  He could have fallen, broken a bone, maybe he had started to feel the effects of his failing organs, maybe his heart was finally giving up and Ryan had to say goodbye, maybe he was already—

“Ryan.”  Ryan was met with Spencer’s blue eyes, leveled a few inches above his own.  “You don't have to go in there yet, nobody’s rushing you,” Spencer said.

Ryan's lip trembled.  “What's going on? Nobody would tell me anything, I don't know—”

Spence gulped.  “Hey, hey.  Don't freak out right now.”  He placed both his hands on Ryan's shoulders, minding the broken one.

“I need to see him; is he okay?  Does he need me?”

“Ryan,” Spencer said, “he's gone.”

Ryan's franticness disappeared.  “What?  What are you talking about?”

“He was asleep and the morphine was really going—” Spencer shook his head.

That was all Ryan could hear.  He broke Spencer's hold and shoved past him, knocking their shoulders and making Ryan grit his teeth.  Brendon's parents stood right outside his door, neither of them crying.  Yet.  They stared at Ryan and moved aside to let him pass.

He didn't prepare himself for walking in Brendon’s room, he just acted upon it, closing the door quite loudly behind him.  It was eerily silent in the room, and cold.  Ryan shivered.  Everything had remained untouched since the last time Ryan was there, including Brendon himself.

Reluctantly, Ryan made his way over to the chair at the side of Brendon's bed, and collapsed in it.  Brendon's eyes were closed, and he looked asleep, asleep, blissfully passed out, lips parted, but Ryan knew there would be no warmth escaping them if he checked, if he touched his plush lips one more time.  They would be too cold, Ryan was afraid.  No, Brendon wasn't breathing, and Ryan wasn't either.  Not at that sight.  He snatched one of Brendon's hands from atop the covers, and there was no twitch of movement in his fingers, no attempt to curl around Ryan's hands.  Ryan held his hand, dropping the weight to his lap, and felt his bony wrist.  No pulse.

Looking at Brendon, Ryan half expected his eyes to flutter open, his lips to move and utter a, “Good morning, angel.”  But he knew the truth.  Accepted it, even.  He’d never hear those words again.

“Brendon,” Ryan whispered.  “If anyone has a soul, I know you do.”  He needed to get the thought out, even if it was pointless, but if there you as some afterlife, if souls lingered, or something like that, maybe Brendon could hear him.  It was almost better than a goodbye.  “I—I know this is better for you.  You don't deserve all that pain.  I hope you're not worried about me anymore, either, because you don't need to be.  I'll be okay.  I'm going to miss you, I can't lie about that.”  Ryan bit his cheek.  He supposed he was talking to himself, but it definitely didn't feel like it.  “You used to call me, ‘angel,’ your angel, but I think that's backwards.  You're my angel, now, at least.  I'm never going to stop loving you.  And, oh, baby boy, you're always going to be everything to me, too.”

Ryan's breath was steady, not shaking at all, and he was surprised with himself for that.  He wanted more than anything for Brendon to simply wake up, but that wasn't happening.  Brendon was gone, from Ryan, from life, forever.

The air shifted, and Ryan felt that things were finalized.  It was all over, everything with Brendon, although Ryan's heartbreak had just began.  He unlaced his and Brendon's fingers, holding his hand to his lips, kissing one of the fragile bones on the back.  Gently, with closure, Ryan repositioned his hand back on the bed.  He took one last look at Brendon's pretty face as he stood up, then turned his back and left the hospital room for the last time.

That was the extent of Ryan's words, what he’d had to say to Brendon.  Spencer asked if he wanted a ride home, and Ryan only nodded, completely silent.  When they walked down the hallway, Pete was going the opposite way.  Ryan avoided eye contact.  Spencer spoke for him.  “He just passed this morning,” Spencer said.  Pete’s smile fell, and he looked at Ryan, who was hanging his head.  “You can go up and see him, if you want.”  Ryan didn't stay to see Pete’s reaction.

He should be leaving the hospital with Brendon at his side, healing and recovering, coming home with him to stay.  He wouldn't feel so queasy if he could wrap an arm around Brendon, walk him to the car.  Never again would he be able to.  His head pounded.

In the air, the silence was tense.  Ryan felt overly vulnerable, and simply overcome with sadness.  “If you want to talk, Ryan,” Spencer offered.

Ryan didn't answer him, picking at the hem of his t-shirt.

Spencer was chewing gum, which faintly irritated Ryan, as it disturbed his silence.  He had lost Brendon forever . . .

Maybe Spencer did want to talk, since he had lost one of his best friends as well, but Ryan didn't know what to say.  He couldn't provide comfort for this.  Ryan felt empty inside.  He had nothing to look forward to, no plans for anything.  His future revolved around Brendon.  He felt lost.

He’d never see Brendon's smile again, hear his voice, feel his skin, kiss his lips.  Ryan would be alone for all his time, in a bleak future without Brendon.  He would have constant reminders of him, with his whole career based around the band.  His and Brendon's band.  Brendon was his frontman.

It almost felt like Ryan's life was ending, too.

To break the silence, Spencer turned the radio on.  It was a kind gesture, meant to be a distraction, something to break the tension, but what was flowing through the speakers of the car— “ . . . much better to face these kinds of things, with a sense of poise and—”

Spencer immediately turned it off, looking completely embarrassed and tortured.  Ryan stared away from him, shock reverberating in him from hearing Brendon's voice, but it was fake.  It would always be fake, now.  Ryan would have to be living in memory to hear him again.

He let out a sob, regretting it when he found that they wouldn't stop coming.  Spencer pulled the car over, and it reminded Ryan of when Brendon got his diagnosis, when he realized what it meant, and—oh, fuck, Ryan was a wreck.

“Hey, if you don't want to go home right now, then you don't have to.  That might be too much, right now, so if you want to come over, or go out somewhere, we can do that,” Spencer rambled.  That was unlike him, but at least he wasn't crying as hard as Ryan.

Ryan shook his head.  “I—I want to be alone.”  That was a lie—he wanted Brendon, his boy, his baby boy.

“Okay,” Spencer nodded, but he seemed unsure.  He had to know Ryan was lying.

Ryan sniffled.  He held in the last of his tears before getting out of the car in front of his house.  All at once, he felt so alone, with the silence, the empty space beside him while he walked.

The house was the way Ryan left it, no more than two hours ago.  It seemed distant already, when he’d given Brendon the last kiss, Brendon saying, “ _ You know you're everything to me. _ ”  Ryan was terrified of losing memories of Brendon, forgetting all the details about him, all the things he said.

Ryan wandered back to the bedroom, taking his time.  He was going to sleep, deal with more realizations and feelings in the morning.  And to think, the last time he fell asleep, Brendon had been nestled into his side, and Ryan had sang him to sleep.

He was hesitant to crawl in bed, knowing it would forever be empty aside from himself.  Brendon's side of the bed would remain cold and untouched.  Ryan thought of Brendon saying Ryan would feel better when he wasn't staying in the hospital, yet the large bed seemed uninviting, even more so than a tiny hospital bed that he didn't really fit into.

To sleep, he would change out of his clothes.  He opened the closet door, only to be overwhelmed by the amount of clothing that belonged to Brendon.  Ryan could see how everything looked on him, mentally.  It was so tempting . . . Ryan knew it all smelled like Brendon, nearly felt like him.  Ryan slipped out of his shirt in favor of a black hoodie of Brendon's, zipping it up and throwing the hood on.  Ryan shivered, completely enveloping himself in it.

Brendon always laughed at him when Ryan wore any of his clothes, since they were always loose on him.  They constantly stole each other’s clothing, especially on tour—there was even a makeup stain on Brendon's jacket.  It gave Ryan comfort to know that if he’d been the one who’d gotten sick, Brendon would probably be in the same place as him, wearing his clothes as a form of comfort after he died.

Ryan got in bed, pulled the covers over himself, and turned to lay on his side.  He faced the expanse of mattress where Brendon should be laying, looking at the numerous pillows Brendon used. Ryan was going to have a hard time sleeping, knowing he would never hold Brendon at night again.  As if it would be a valid substitute, Ryan took the pillow Brendon laid his head on, and hugged it to his chest.  He breathed in the smell of Brendon's hair, closing his eyes.  He could almost feel the ghost of lips on his neck.  Ryan shivered again, burying himself farther in the hoodie.

He could have married Brendon.  If he hadn’t gotten sick, this could even be their wedding night, for all Ryan knew.  Brendon would have gone anywhere to do it.  He’d wanted to be with Ryan forever.

Now there was nothing left.

Ryan longed for Brendon's skin, his breath, heartbeat, voice.  There were tears streaming down his face, and he didn't think he could handle having everything of Brendon's, besides the boy physically.  He let go of Brendon's pillow, untangling himself from the covers.  He couldn't think about Brendon anymore, he needed an escape.

Spencer was always there for him, so Ryan called him.  “Will you come get me?” Ryan asked, trying to stop crying in order to speak.  “I'm sorry.”

“Of course, Ryan, I'll be right there.”

At Spencer's house, they were alone.  Although nobody said it, Ryan knew that Jon and Zack were at the hospital, seeing Brendon for the last time.

“You were right,” Ryan told Spencer.  “It is too much for me to be at home right now.”

Spencer looked at him, noticing his attire.  “It's okay.  Is that jacket—?”

“Brendon’s,” Ryan nodded.  Ryan bunched the sleeves over his hands, curling his legs underneath himself on Spencer's couch.  “I miss him already.”

“I do, too,” Spencer admitted.  “I'm so sorry.  For everything.”

“It'll be okay.  I won't have to see him cry anymore.”

“I guess so,” Spencer said.

“I love him,” Ryan said.  “I don't know how I'm going to live with it.”

“You don't have to stop loving him.”

“I know.  Because I don't think I ever will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why. Why did I do this.


	21. Epilogue

The only thing Ryan had written in over a month was a speech for Brendon's funeral.  This was frustrating for him, since he might have been able to write something beautiful.  It was all very poetic, Ryan thought, the boy he loved most dying.

Every time he picked up a pen, he could only think of how the words would sound on Brendon's tongue, singing it back to him.

It made him very counter-productive.

The funeral was relatively small, with only close family and friends attending.  There had been a memoriam type of thing open to the public, to fans, but it was a lot less personal.  Ryan didn't cry at Brendon's actual funeral, although his speech brought several others to tears.

“I know if Brendon was here, he'd be handling everything a lot better than me.  He would miss me, but he would be a lot more optimistic than I have been.  So, for that, I know I should be optimistic for him.  I'm glad he's not in pain anymore.  I'm happy he did a lot of the things he wanted.  I can appreciate that he's peaceful and finally resting.  But I'm selfish.  I miss him.  I wish I still had him with me.  I'd give anything to see him again, hear his voice.”  Ryan paused to clear his throat.  “But I accept that it will never happen.  I'm not in denial.  As much as I want him, I have to learn to love him without him being here.  He's the most beautiful person I've ever known.  We were all lucky to have him while we did.”  He made eye contact with Pete, who was the only one there who was actually looking at him, not at the floor, or at the pictures of Brendon set up everywhere.  “Nothing could make me happier than him, but that's okay.  He’ll always take that place for me.  I hope we can all think about him and be happier.  To smile for him.  And not be dreary.  I need to work on it, too.  But he was so talented and strong-willed, I don't want to remember him because he was sick.”  Ryan nodded politely to everyone and stepped away from the podium.

He listened to the sound of people crying with nothing but a dull ache in his chest.  Later, he supposed, he’d break down again and weep over Brendon.  He was gone.

Brendon's mother told everyone to pray, and for once, Ryan did.  After all, Brendon was his angel.

Apparently Ryan's lack of tears was more concerning than if he had been crying.  “Are you okay?” Everyone kept asking him.

Stiffly, Ryan nodded.  He himself wondered if he’d always act like this, if losing Brendon had changed him.  That was almost expected—meeting Brendon had changed him.  He was told he would be able to move on, but all Ryan could see was the passage of time, all without Brendon with him.

He could watch the sun rise and the moon fall, but he would never feel light in his life again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the end. Thank you so much for reading this story! Sorry it was sad. I'll post an alternate ending though soon!


	22. Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is happy! Everything is good! This kinda ruins the whole point of the story, though, so fair warning.

“Okay, fuck this shit, let’s go.”

Brendon glanced around the hospital room one last time, adjusting the bag on his shoulders.

“Have everything?” Ryan asked him.

“Yeah, I'm done with this place,” Brendon said.

They were leaving the hospital—leaving for good.  Ryan was ecstatic, but it was nothing to how Brendon felt.  The boy practically skipped out of the hospital doors, into the sunlight.  Ryan watched him bask in it for a few moments, and then return to Ryan's side.  Brendon took his hand, and Ryan spun him around playfully, making Brendon laugh.  The sound wasn't rough and cracking and weak and wispy.  Ryan was comforted by it, resting his temple to Brendon's.

Brendon's voice had healed with the rest of him.  When the leukemia retreated, he stopped puking blood, which gave the tissue in his throat and vocal chords the ability to heal.  He had a month of physical therapy, when he still had to stay in the hospital.  Just in case.  And for once, the precaution was unnecessary.  His recovery was smooth.  He started vocal therapy, too, to become reaccustomed with his own voice.

Brendon sounded  _ good _ , he even dared to say he sounded better than before his sickness.  He sang to Ryan a lot, especially since Ryan asked him to, often times.  It was so beautiful to hear his voice after the fear that he had lost it forever.

It was so beautiful to have Brendon after the fear of losing him forever.

“We never celebrated your birthday, Ryan,” Brendon said as they walked to the car.  “We should go out somewhere.”

Brendon sounded so happy, so excited, that Ryan couldn't even try to resist him.  “That's not the only thing we should be celebrating,” Ryan said, swinging their locked fingers.

“I guess not,” Brendon said.  “I don't care what we do, though.  I'll leave it up to you.”

“Well, if you leave it up to me, I'd just take you home right now, and fall asleep, and you’ll be bored.”

Brendon grinned.  “I'm okay with that.  I kinda wanna sleep in an actual bed, too.”

“Then let's go home, baby boy.  The house is so empty without you.”  Ryan had been sleeping at home more than at the hospital, as Brendon recovered.  He was more at ease, with Brendon not being extremely sick.  He'd been looking forward to the day Brendon would walk in the door with him for so long, for the day Brendon would be living with him again.

“I'll take you out for breakfast tomorrow,” Brendon promised.  “We have to do something special for you.”

“We can do whatever you want,” Ryan said.

Brendon laughed more, and Ryan felt the rush of how in love he was; seeing him smile filled him with undeniable happiness.  And to think, Ryan could have had to live the rest of his life without seeing it, would have never heard Brendon's laugh again.  He’d been so close to losing Brendon, he'd accepted that it would happen—Brendon had as well.  It made Ryan giddy to think that Brendon wasn't going to slip between his fingers, that he could touch him and not have him be in pain.  Brendon was happy, exuberant, and it was positively radiating off of him.

In the car, Brendon laced their fingers, his hands warm.  “It's so weird,” he said.  “I can't wait to just go home with you.”

“I know, B,” Ryan replied, squeezing his fingers.  “I get to keep you forever.”

Brendon giggled.  “Or until you get sick of me.”

“Never will.”

Ryan parked in front of their home, feeling like it was their first time there, that this was the beginning of their lives together.  Maybe Ryan felt that way every time he kissed Brendon, but at least it was the beginning, and not the end.  The fear was gone that every kiss would be their last.  As if reading Ryan's thoughts, Brendon leaned across the console of the unmoving car, closing their lips together, and again outside their front door.

After unlocking the door, Ryan slipped an arm around Brendon's waist and guided him inside.  Brendon stopped in the doorway, looking around the place for the first time in several months.  “Did you clean?” Brendon asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I wanted it to look nice for you.”

“That's sweet.  I know you never keep things this tidied.”

Ryan gazed down at Brendon, his awed smile at everything.  Unable to contain himself, Ryan gathered Brendon up in his arms, hugging him tightly.  He bowed his head far enough to hide his face in Brendon's neck.  Brendon slowly hugged him back, petting Ryan's hair.  “I'm so glad you're here, beautiful,” Ryan mumbled.

“I love you.”  Brendon cupped Ryan's face in his hands.  “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.  Come to bed.  I've been freezing every night without you.”

They didn't necessarily let go of each other to wander to the bedroom, taking their time.  On instinct, Ryan tried to support Brendon's weight, in case he were to fall.  Brendon was more than strong enough now, but definitely didn't mind having Ryan wound around him.

“As much as I missed skinny jeans,” Brendon said, when they walked into the bedroom, “they're not the most comfortable thing to sleep in.”  He slipped out of Ryan's hold, and threw open the closet door.  Brendon sighed.  “So many t-shirts I can steal from you.”

“Go for it,” Ryan said.

“And you said you were cold, so I think you should take—this.”  Brendon picked up one of his own hoodies, showing it to Ryan.  “It's only fair.”

Although Ryan's shoulder had healed, his sling had been taken off a week ago, Brendon pulled his shirt over his head for him, and pulled the hoodie over his body.  Ryan caught his hand as he pushed the zipper up, locking their fingers.

With that, Ryan lead the way to bed, pulling back the covers for both of them.  Brendon immediately closed his eyes when he laid down, the covers wrapped around him.  “We have a really nice bed,” Brendon muttered.  “The hospital beds are, like, stiff, and even worse than bunks on tour, I swear.  It'd be a lot fucking better if you laid down, too.”  He cracked an eye open.

“Yeah?” Ryan crawled underneath the sheets, and rolled over to have his head on Brendon's chest.  “Better?”

“Well, babe, I think you're breaking my ribs again,” Brendon said, groaning slightly.

“Oh, shit, sorry.  Hey, are you okay?” Ryan immediately moved to the other side of the bed, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

Brendon laughed.  “I'm fine, lover, I'm totally messing with you.  Come here.”  He reached for Ryan, pulling him even closer than before.  “I'm alright, I promise.”

“Don't joke about that stuff,” Ryan insisted.  “I'll constantly still be worried about you.”

“You just will be, no matter what.”

“I can't help it.”  He kissed Brendon's temple.

“I don't blame you.”

Ryan shifted.  “I’m so relieved you're going to be okay.”  That was all he had to say, and Brendon was getting choked up.

“Me too, really, I am too,” Brendon said.  “I get to stay with you.”

“You get to do everything, my love.”

“Thank you, Ryan, thank you so fucking much.  You don't even know.  I don't think I would've made it without you.”

“You're strong, sweetheart.”

“So are you.  I don't know how I would be able to handle it if you were that sick.”

“You'd take good care of me, I have no doubt.”

So maybe Ryan would be completely terrified out of his wits whenever Brendon simply coughed, or if he ever got the slightest bruise anywhere, but the boy was okay.  Ryan had him, safely, and everyday was a relief, every breath and every kiss.


End file.
